


lessons in ethics

by luckee



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amputee Anakin Skywalker, Anakin's oral fixation, Blow Jobs, Breaking and Entering, Cock Warming, Dom/sub, Edgeplay, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Many more tags to be added as it gets kinky, Mechanic Anakin Skywalker, Professor Obi-Wan Kenobi, Rope Bondage, Situational Humiliation, Street Racing, Sub Anakin Skywalker, dom obi-wan kenobi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:40:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24944764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckee/pseuds/luckee
Summary: Anakin didn’t expect to get anything out of robbing the brownstone on Irving Street beyond a few hundred dollars from whatever he managed to pawn.He certainly didn’t expect to get caught by the whisky-drinking, soft sweater-wearing ethics professor who lived there.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 202
Kudos: 498





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I love a modern AU and also so I don’t have to use kriff to swear. Anakin’s 23 and Obi-Wan’s 33 in this, shamelessly because those were Hayden and Ewan’s ages while filming RotS. I've kept everyone’s names the same for fun. Also, you can expect lots of explicit tags to be added as this goes along.
> 
> You can also find me on [tumblr](http://luckee.tumblr.com/).

“We got a new car in the shop,” Watto announced as soon as he entered the garage.

“Oh yeah?” Anakin didn’t bother to look out from underneath the car he was working on. “What’s the quote?”

“Two hundred for basic maintenance, needs an oil change and tires rotated. Upcharged them because they’re new and seemed sorta clueless. Nice car too, I think you’ll be a fan.”

Anakin finished up the repairs quickly and wiped his hands off on a grease rag before gathering up his toolbox and heading out to the lot.

When he saw the car he let out a low appreciative whistle.

A Cayman GT4, the type of car he never thought he would see with his own eyes, much less see sitting in front of Watto’s seedy shop. No one in this part of town drove a Porsche. The pretty little thing was painted an obnoxious bright yellow with racing stripes on the hood.

It was _sick._

He knew he had to race it. How could he not? This was easily the nicest car he’d ever have the chance to race, and besides, he hadn’t been to a race in weeks and he was itching to get behind the wheel.

Watto asked him to close the shop alone that evening, and it was almost like the universe was telling him to take the car out for a joyride. 

* * *

“You’re back!” JJ greeted him as he walked up to the rowdy gathering of racers, enthusiasts, and mildly curious drunks who had stumbled over from the nearby bars. “Are you racing tonight?”

Anakin grinned. “Sure am.”

“Finally got a new engine?”

“Not yet, still saving up for that. That one’s mine tonight.” He pointed a thumb back toward the cars.

“The yellow one?” JJ gasped when Anakin nodded. “No way. You can’t afford that.”

Anakin gave him a look. 

“Oh! It’s from the shop isn’t it? Oh my. You’re gonna get yourself fired.”

“What Watto doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“Can’t believe someone brought a car like that into your shop!”

“Me neither. The thing’s an absolute menace, too. The owner got it all tricked out.”

“Well, I’m placing my bets on you tonight.”

JJ wasn’t a friend, exactly, but he was a regular at races and never failed to be the most loud and excitable spectator there. Anakin appreciated his company just fine, but he didn’t go out of his way to make friends at races. Street racing was a solitary hobby for him. He liked to keep things between himself and the road.

And, of course, he liked the non-taxable money he regularly won from it.

He put his name in for a race, bets were made, and soon there was nothing but smooth asphalt below him and blurry street lights whipping past him. The car drove like a dream, everything he had hoped for and more.

It all happened too fast, even for his quick reflexes. He was nearly overtaking the other racer when they fucked up a turn, tires screeching on the pavement. Anakin only just realized what was about to happen when one of the car’s tires blew out, sending the car off like a whip crack, spiraling directly into him. He spun the wheel as fast as he could to veer away but it was too late. 

The last thing he remembered was something flying through the windshield and the blinding pain of a heavy weight crushing him into the console.

* * *

“Two-fifty.”

Anakin’s jaw dropped. “What? That’s it?”

“Sorry kid. That’s all I can give you.”

Anakin jabbed a finger at the necklace. “But they’re real pearls.”

She didn’t bother to look as she started pulling cash out of the register. “I know.”

“You gave me eighty for the earrings and that was only two pearls! This is like, two hundred pearls. It’s gotta be worth a grand at least.”

“Sixty pearls. And it doesn’t work like that. I’m being generous today with two-fifty.”

Anakin narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You always say you're being generous.”

“Do you want the money or not?” She held out the wad of bills with her other hand squarely planted on her hip.

He hesitated for only a second, eyes darting between the cash and the necklace on the counter, before taking the offered bills.

Right then his phone started to ring. He stuffed the money in his sweatshirt pocket so he could pull the phone out of his jeans. Anakin grimaced when he saw the contact, and had half a mind to ignore the call before he thought better of it. Bells chimed overhead as he exited the pawn shop and slid to answer the call. “Hello?”

“You oughta know why I’m calling already.”

“Sure do.”

“So? You mailed the money?”

Anakin chewed his lip. “Not yet, no—”

“Bah! I’m not giving you no more time. You owe me last month’s rent, and the month’s rent before that, and next week you’ll owe me another month’s rent. I can’t have you behind three months. I’ve been real forgiving with you what with the accident and all—”

“I get it,” Anakin cut in quickly. “Listen, I can get you last month’s rent, just give me until next week. I promise.”

“Last month’s rent!” Jabba’s throaty laugh crackled through the phone and Anakin had to pull it away from his ear to preserve his hearing. “One month isn’t enough no more. Get me all of the damn money you owe me by the first of the month or you’re getting evicted.”

With that, the call ended. Anakin shoved his phone back into his pocket and kicked an empty carton of takeout into the road.

It had been six months since he’d gotten fired from Watto’s shop and he was running low on legal sources of income. There was one piece of his mom’s jewelry left in the box, but he wasn’t ready to sell that yet. He didn’t think he’d ever be ready to sell that. Everything else he had of value had been pawned or sold online months ago. 

Pickpocketing on the subway or trolley was fairly easy money, but he rarely got more than a few twenties per pickpocket. The metro transit police were starting to recognize him from victim reports so it was becoming too risky for the reward.

He did manage to get a job at the budget grocery store on his block; they were so desperate for a cashier they even waived the background check. Not three weeks in and he was fired. Yeah, sure, he had been skimming cash from the register, but minimum wage was not going to pay his medical bills. 

It made buying groceries kind of awkward, but it was the cheapest store in the area and he didn’t exactly have a working car to take his business elsewhere. 

He wasn't exactly ready to get behind the wheel yet either.

It took two buses to get from his neck of the woods to the nicer neighborhoods surrounding the local college, the ones with ivy-covered brownstones and health food co-ops and people walking their dogs on the sidewalks. He was less than a mile from Padmé and Sabé’s apartment near campus when a row of townhouses caught his eye.

He wasn’t about to get evicted from his shithole of an apartment. If he couldn’t manage anything else he had to at least keep a roof over his head. And that meant resorting to more desperate methods to make sure he could pay rent.

One brownstone in particular was very well-kept, the small front yard gated and bursting with plants. A few bushes were still blooming with flowers even in late September. The blinds were drawn shut on the windows but he could still tell it was dark inside. Not exactly a surprise, middle of the day on a Monday, but still important to check. The street was quiet, no cars or pedestrians passing by.

This one would do.

Picking the lock was a quick affair. The house was quiet and empty, as predicted, the inside just as snobbishly well-decorated and tidy as one would expect from the outside. He didn’t waste time admiring it, instead focused on finding the most valuable items that were the least likely to be noticed if they went missing.

He found his prize in the bedroom closet. There was only one bedroom upstairs, across the hall from what looked like an office. 

There was a cedar chest in back of the closet, a few miscellaneous ties and belts strewn across the top. He brushed those off and tried to open it, but the lid didn’t budge. 

Huh, another lock. He smirked. Luckily, locks were his speciality.

The tiny lock gave easily under his pick and the chest opened to reveal an assortment of fancy things neatly organized into boxes and trays. Anakin didn’t even know what half of it was. Jewelry laden with gems, hand-painted dishes, a spyglass trimmed with gold...

He decided on an expensive-looking wristwatch, with a large gold face and dark leather band. He locked everything back up and left the townhouse feeling pretty satisfied with his choice in house.

* * *

“I’ll pay you six hundred to buy it from you outright.”

Anakin couldn’t quite believe his ears. “Did you say six hundred?” 

“It’s an antique. Collector’s type. If you let me buy it I’ll put this one online and start the bidding around one thousand.”

Well now that he knew _that_ he was pissed he wasn’t being offered more. But he took the money anyway, still feeling dumbstruck as he left the pawn shop with enough twenties to make his sweatshirt pocket bulge.

Admittedly, he needed a bigger sweatshirt than the one he’d thrifted when he was fifteen, but _still._ It was a lot of cash.

He headed directly to the bus stop. Now there was no doubt in his mind that he was going back to the house from yesterday.

He’d already been considering it. That chest was probably full of things that rich people collected, and whoever lived there evidently didn’t care very much if they had it all locked away. Now that he knew just one watch could get him nearly a full month’s rent, he had to go back.

And maybe the house had also smelled nice and clean and the overflowing bookshelves and the plants outside had made it feel kinda cozy, but that wasn’t relevant.

The top of the cedar chest was free of clutter this time. He snagged a gold signet ring with some sort of crest engraved on the face and resisted the urge to take more. 

He stayed in the house for a while longer this time, flipping through the tweed blazers and sweaters that lined the closet, pulling out books from their shelves and reading their titles. 

He took a bite out of the apple that he’d swiped from the fruit bowl while reading the spine of another book. There was nothing particularly interesting on the shelves, nothing he recognized anyway, but he still found himself weirdly curious about whoever lived here.

It was obviously a single man. Probably an old man too, based on his taste in clothes and love of boring books and the half-finished cup of tea he had left in the sink.

Definitely an old man.

He ended up taking another apple on his way out, figuring the fruit bowl was full enough for it to go unnoticed.

The ring earned him another four hundred dollars. That and some pickpocket money was all added to the envelope he had addressed to Jabba. 

So of course he returned the next day.

After he’d pocketed another watch he settled onto the sofa. There was no television so he pulled out his phone, deciding he could afford to pass some time here where it was comfy and quiet. That was when he noticed a few new additions to the coffee table. 

The fruit bowl had been moved from the kitchen, and next to it was a smaller set of bowls, one brimming with pink and yellow cherries, looking shiny and freshly washed, the other empty. Maybe for the pits. There was also a book. He leaned over to read the title. _Grounding for the Metaphysics of Morals._ He snorted and sagged back onto the sofa to return to his phone.

If he maybe ate a few of the cherries and scattered the pits into the yard, no one had to know.

The next day there was a sandwich on the coffee table wrapped up neatly on a plate. Next to it there was a tin of shortbread.

Huh. The old man must have a sweet tooth. He was also apparently very forgetful if he'd left his lunch here, probably forgetful enough to not remember where he’d left it… or notice that it was gone.

He also saw that the book had changed to _Immanuel Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason._

Anakin fell asleep on the sofa soon after eating. His phone was open to a game and nearly out of battery when he startled awake around six in the evening. He ran out of the house with no sign of the owner arriving home for the night.

And, he realized belatedly, empty-handed.

On Friday he saw through half-open blinds that a light in the living room had been left on.

The old man must have forgotten to turn it off before he left for work. Well, Anakin would turn it off for him, save him the wasted electricity. He was doing him a favor by breaking in, really.

As soon as Anakin closed the door behind him and walked through the foyer he realized his mistake.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming today.”

“Shit!”

The light really should’ve tipped him off immediately. A man was there, sitting in the living room on the plush reading chair, a cup in one hand and a newspaper in the other.

And he was _fucking hot._

Anakin had not once pictured the person living here to be young. Sure, he looked older than Anakin, probably mid-thirties, but he was _young and hot_ in a stupid soft-looking beige sweater and dark trousers, one ankle crossed over the other knee.

And his face. He’d never experienced beard burn but now all he could think about was what that beard would feel like scratching between his thighs—

_SHIT._

Up until now he’d been frozen in shock, but now was definitely the time to run and hope the man hadn’t gotten a good look at his face.

“No need to rush out on me; you’ve only just arrived.”

Was that a British accent? Scottish? It was only a slight inflection in his voice but it made him seem even more irritatingly posh and _hot, holy fuck he’s hot._

The man rose from his chair and leisurely strode across the room to some kind of fancy hutch that Anakin had only glanced at before. It was made of an elegant dark wood and on it Anakin could see an artfully arranged assortment of liquor bottles and glasses. His body was tensed up and ready to run, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it just yet, curious where this was going and still struck dumb that _the old man was hot._

“Would you care for a drink?” 

Anakin blinked. A _drink?_ At one in the afternoon? With the person who’d just broken into his house? This guy was either biding his time for something or straight-up loony. He didn’t _look_ loony... “Uh, drinking’s not really my thing.”

“You smoke, then?” The man opened the top drawer of the hutch and held up an amber-stained glass bowl. 

Anakin was too bewildered to say anything. 

The man shrugged, taking his silence as a no, and placed the bowl back in the drawer before going about pouring himself a drink. Whisky, it looked like, from the color of it, but Anakin couldn’t have named the brand if he was held at gunpoint. “Suit yourself. The offer’s still on the table.”

He remained standing, hand leaning against the hutch as he took a long pull on his drink, watching Anakin with something like amusement glittering in his eyes. Were they blue? Anakin couldn’t tell from where he was still hovering near the archway.

“You know, most people who find a stranger in their home would call the police.”

“Yeah? Why don’t you then?” Anakin said. “Call the cops.”

“I don’t believe involving the police is an appropriate response to this situation.”

Anakin eyed him. Maybe a little loony. “Right. How do you know I don’t have a gun or something?”

The man met his gaze and held it. It made Anakin feel exposed, hot under his skin. And maybe a little turned on. “I don’t think you want to hurt me.”

“You literally don’t know me.”

“I know you better than you think.” 

His stomach dropped. Had there been cameras? Was that why he was acting so nonchalant about a stranger in his house? Had he called the cops already? Anakin literally couldn’t afford bail right now and he could not ask for Padmé's help again.

The man took another sip of whisky before speaking again. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice my family heirlooms disappearing?”

No, Anakin didn’t think he would. It had all been buried in the back of a closet. He’d tried to be overly careful too, only taking one thing at a time. _Dammit._

“I didn’t, actually,” he continued, lips curving into a smile that made Anakin feel like he was definitely being used as a source of entertainment for him, “but I did notice right away when the lock on my front door was loose.”

Well, shit. 

“If this is about the stuff I took, I can’t get it back,” Anakin said in a rush. “Well, maybe I can get some of it back. But if I do you’ll have to pay me double whatever I got for it.”

“Pay you? For my own belongings?” That grin was wide, his eyes dancing with laughter.

Anakin responded with a scowl. He made an aborted movement to cross his arms over his chest and got even more flustered by it in the process. “Well they don’t exactly belong to you anymore, do they?”

“I’m not particularly concerned with anything you took,” the man admitted with a shrug.

That somehow put Anakin more on edge. “What do you want then? Are you just stalling until the cops get here? Because they won’t catch me. I’m a fast runner.”

The man’s eyes trailed down his body and back up. A look of appreciation flitted across his face. “No, I don’t doubt that.”

Anakin felt his cheeks heat up and he shifted his weight, subtly trying to angle his right side away.

“Did you read the books I left out for you?” the man asked, breaking their eye contact by pushing off the hutch and walking around to the coffee table. “I noticed the sandwich was eaten. I’m glad it didn’t go to waste.” 

Those books were for him? The food was for _him?_ God, he’d really been so stupid. “You thought I would read those? You might as well have left a phonebook.”

The man picked up _Immanuel Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason_ and examined it, almost as if trying to figure out what made it so offensive to Anakin _._ “I’m a bit disappointed. You’ve been in my house every day this week and haven’t even bothered to take up my suggested readings.”

Who the hell left out suggested readings for the person robbing them?

“My introductory class has just started to learn about Kantian ethics. You might like to sit in on one of the lectures.”

Well. That answered his question. _Of course_ he was a professor. A hot young professor who wore tweed. 

“Have you heard of Kant’s categorical imperative?” At Anakin’s deadpan look he continued. “‘Act as you would want all other people to act towards all other people.’ Kant would say that actions like lying, cheating, or, say, _stealing_ are examples of using people as a means to an end instead of seeing them as an end in and of themselves.”

It took a second for Anakin to process what the man had said. Another second to process the condescension in his tone and get really pissed off by it. He marched across the room and slapped the stupid book out of his hands. “Is that what this is all about? Trying to make a bad apple see the error of his ways? You know what, fuck you and your weird savior complex. You don’t know anything about me or what I’m going through right now and you sure as fuck can’t just read me some rich dead guy’s ideas about what’s right and wrong and expect me to feel guilty for stealing your useless shit! Because I don’t. Feel guilty, that is.”

He was a little breathless by the time he finished. The man had been watching him calmly the entire time. His eyes were most definitely blue, he could see that now that they were this close. And they were very close. Anakin was a couple inches taller than him but the man’s steady, thoughtful gaze in the wake of his outburst was making him feel much smaller.

“What’s your name?”

“Why would I tell you that?” Anakin said automatically.

The man’s expression softened into something apologetic. “I’m not going to report you. I hope I’ve made that clear already.”

Anakin didn’t budge.

He held out his hand. “Let’s start this over, shall we? I’m Dr. Obi-Wan Kenobi, professor of moral philosophy and ethics.”

Anakin stared at the man’s outstretched hand. Palm open, soft-looking. Long, thick fingers. His left hand.

“Tell me your name.” And even though his voice was gentle, it was an order.

“It’s… Anakin,” he said, voice cracking. 

“Very good.”

“I’m sorry,” he stammered out before he could stop himself.

“Don’t apologize to me, dear.”

The man—the professor—Obi-Wan, was so close. The hand he’d held out for Anakin to shake was slowly, very slowly, moving, until it came to rest on his shoulder. He gave his shoulder a light squeeze and Anakin almost shattered under the touch.

“I’m not— that wasn’t an apology to you,” Anakin said, suddenly feeling cornered and far too vulnerable. He ducked his head. He should leave. He knew he should leave. He should’ve left a long time ago. _Why wasn’t he leaving?_

“I think you’re hurting,” Obi-Wan said softly, his thumb rubbing small, soothing circles into Anakin’s shoulder. He caught himself leaning into the touch.

“Does no one pay enough attention to you and your needs? Is that why you lash out? Break into people’s homes?” That hand carefully came up to his face, and Anakin almost flinched away but that touch was so gentle, feathering over the raised pink scar under his eye. He screwed his eyes shut against the sudden prickling of tears.

“I think you just need someone to take care of you. Is that right? Are you tired, sweet boy?”

A quiet whimper left his parted lips. They were so close they were nearly touching, Anakin could feel his body heat, he could just lean forward a little bit…

“Where’s your home? I can’t help but wonder why you’ve spent all week in my home and not yours. Does it feel safe here to you? Do you want to feel safe and taken care of?”

He couldn’t breathe, couldn't take it anymore. Anakin tore himself away from Obi-Wan’s touch and ran, out into the broad daylight that filtered in through the trees that lined Irving Street.

* * *

As soon as he entered his apartment his eyes zeroed in on the envelope and he was reminded it was the last day of the month. Tomorrow he’d be getting another call and he wouldn’t have the money. 

He flopped down on his bed and immediately forced his pants and boxers down, pulling out his already hard cock. 

It still didn’t feel natural to use his left hand but it got the job done. He pumped himself with vigor, channeling all of his pent up frustration and arousal into coming as fast as possible. 

He had the sense to grab a tissue just before he came, groaning into his empty room and biting down hard on his lip.

As he pulled off his sweatshirt to settle in for a nap something fell out of the pocket. He rifled around in the sheets until he found it.

A pair of antique gold cufflinks.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fic formerly known as ‘leave a light on.’ I’m sorry I know it’s confusing but please trust me the title change is good! Now to find out how Anakin’s going to make rent…

Jabba didn’t even give him time to sleep in.

His phone was nearly vibrating off the edge of the paint can by the time he grabbed hold of it.

“...‘ello?”

“So? Is it in the mail?”

“I have last month’s rent and a little extra ready to go.”

“I told you, I need three months. Not one, not two! Three months. Do you have it or not?”

He made his voice as small as he could. “You know I’ve had a real hard time holding down a job since the accident.”

“Bah! Don’t even try it with me. You don’t have the money. Why do you gotta do this to me? Now I have to get Reggie out there to change the locks and move your shit, and on the last fishing weekend of the season no less!” 

“Wait, I can… I can get the money to you by Monday. I’ll hand-deliver the envelope to you, first thing Monday morning. Nine o’ clock sharp.”

“Why should I believe you?”

God, his hand was sweating so much he was nearly losing his grip on the phone. He glanced over at the cufflinks. “...I found a sugar daddy. He’ll pay for it, I just need to ask him.”

It was funny enough to warrant a hefty chortle. “I don’t believe you, but that’s still the most believable thing you’ve told me in a long while. Okay, I’ll give you until Monday. But only because this weekend would be too much of a hassle for me personally.”

As soon as Jabba hung up he threw his phone onto the sheets and his head onto the pillow.

It took him another hour to get out of bed.

He was proud he’d bargained himself another two days to get his shit together; _however,_ he absolutely did not have a sugar daddy or any other means of paying rent. Other than, like, trying to rob the nearest bank and just seeing what happened.

He was desperate, but not that desperate. Probably. ...maybe.

The worst part was that he knew he had a place to go if—when—he got evicted. He knew he had a place to go but the idea of moving in with his ex and her girlfriend was beyond humiliating. Crashing on their couch for a night was one thing, but moving in would be a new low. 

He ran his morning errands. A couple pickpockets on the trolley, a visit to the pawn shop.

For once he took the long way around to get back to his block and it took him past the shop. 

He stood in the lot for a long while, ignoring the sun beating down on him with no cloud cover or trees in sight. He hadn’t been back since his last day of work and it twisted something in his gut to see the shitty peeling sign for _Watto’s Auto Shop_ , to see unfamiliar cars in the lot and Watto’s beat-up pickup in its usual spot in the dirt.

He wondered how the greenies were doing. One was still in high school. She worked as many hours as she could even during the school year. Didn’t help that Watto barely paid them minimum wage. He usually brought them lunch, on the days they were all in the shop. He hoped...

He had to stop that train of thought almost as quickly as it had started.

“Hey!” 

Watto had thrown open the front door. Anakin caught the way his gaze immediately tracked to his right side.

He wanted to bury himself. Or punch something.

“What are you doing here?”

“Nothing, I was just passing through.”

“You know I’m still dealing with the lawsuit, right? That shit’s your fault!”

“I know—”

He cut him off with a hand in the air. “Four years, Anakin. You were my best. I let you get away with a lot because of it. But I always knew your racing would end up being a problem.” 

Watto sighed, shaking his head as if giving up.

“Just get out of here. I don’t wanna see you coming around again.”

“I won’t!” Anakin called back, already headed down the road.

Lars had paid for his mother’s headstone.

He’d paid for the cemetery plot, the embalming, everything. There hadn’t been a memorial. Not enough people.

Anakin wasn’t sure he would’ve gone if there had been one.

He’d picked up a half-decent bouquet from the grocery store by his house, willfully pretending he didn’t see the manager’s suspicious glare while he checked out.

Luckily there weren’t any people around so he felt free to stay there for a while, sitting and picking at the grass. Eventually it got too warm to be in the direct sun wearing a black sweatshirt, but he wasn’t about to take it off in public, even if he was alone.

“See you later, mom,” he said.

 _Shmi Skywalker_ stared back in silence.

* * *

He spent all afternoon telling himself not to go back. Going back was literally the last thing he should be doing right now.

Eventually he caved and flipped through his stack of bills. Calculated exactly how much he still needed.

Clouds overhead were tinted pink and orange by the time he was walking down Irving Street.

He was surprised to see a car parked on the street directly underneath a _No Parking_ sign. It was a newer Challenger with a bright purple coat of paint, and when he rounded the back of the car to walk up the steps to the familiar brownstone he was greeted with a bumper sticker that said _I Honk For Hotties._

It was ridiculously awesome, to the point where he couldn’t even joke to himself that it might be Obi-Wan’s car.

As soon as he entered he realized Obi-Wan had company.

“—told you it was a bad idea.”

“I still think she liked it even if she acted like she didn’t.”

“I’m fairly certain she wasn’t— Oh, Anakin.” Obi-Wan’s eyes managed to find his instantly, even in the shadows of the foyer. “Well, don’t just stand there. Come in.”

There wasn’t supposed to be anyone else here. Shit, he just broke into his house _again_ —

“Oh, so this is him?”

His eyes snapped to the person in the room that he’d completely failed to even glance at until now. This new person was looking at him over the back of the sofa, a wide grin on his face. He was _hot,_ all flashy white teeth and long dreads, mischief in his eyes.

Anakin didn’t like him.

When Obi-Wan didn’t provide a comment the man’s grin only got bigger and he pushed himself off the sofa with an exaggerated sigh. “Well. Guess it’s time for me to head out.”

“That’s not necessary,” Obi-Wan said, but he stood up as well. 

“Nah, it’s getting late. I’ve got my shows to catch up on, you know.”

The man leaned into Obi-Wan, and he thought they were about to hug, but then the man put his hands on Obi-Wan’s arms and— and kissed him, chastely but deliberately, on the lips.

“Quin,” Obi-Wan admonished in a tone so quiet that Anakin almost didn’t hear it.

“Have a good night, Kenobi.”

The man winked at him as he passed and Anakin had to bite down hard on his tongue not to say anything.

“Who was that?” Anakin said as soon as he was gone.

“Please come inside,” Obi-Wan waved him in. “I’d offer you a drink but that didn’t get a great reception last time.” He went over to the hutch to refill his glass. Whisky again tonight. 

Anakin stepped into the room but kept his distance. He felt… off-kilter. Agitated. 

“That was my colleague, Quinlan Vos. He primarily teaches theological philosophies.”

He snorted. “Sure looked like your colleague.”

Obi-Wan pulled from his drink. God, he looked even better in the soft yellow-amber light of the lamps he’d switched on for the evening. Anakin could tell he’d been drinking. His cheeks were lightly flushed in that way that only alcohol would make them. The sleeves of his sweater were bunched up high on his forearms.

“You ran out quite suddenly the last time you were here. I wasn’t expecting to see you again.”

Anakin felt his own cheeks heat up at the mention of their last encounter. 

Obi-Wan caught it right away. His lips quirked up in a way that wasn’t at all unkind but it still made him fidget.

“The only reason I’m here is to give you back your stupid cufflinks.”

“Alright.” Obi-Wan looked at him expectantly. “Where are they?”

Anakin stuffed his hand in his sweatshirt pocket. “I sold them already.”

“...I see.”

“I’m only giving them back to you metaphorically. Like a metaphorical ‘fuck you’ because I really don’t need your charity.”

Obi-Wan merely nodded and it somehow still felt patronizing. “Message received.”

He was done here. This was all he needed to do. Reiterate that he didn’t need his help, say _fuck you,_ and leave. He was really, completely done here, forever—

“Out of curiosity, how much did you get for them?”

“Three-twenty. Why?”

Obi-Wan tsked. “Oh, not good at all. You were scammed, my dear. I could’ve gotten you far more than that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you notice the engravings?”

“You mean like the little symbol with the...?” Anakin tried to draw it in the air.

Obi-Wan sighed. “Yes, that. Without going into too much detail, those were made before the first world war by a highly sought-after menswear designer in Great Britain. Solid gold. Just about everything you’ve taken has been from that designer.”

“So... what you’re saying is I probably should have been getting a lot more money for that shit than I did.”

“It sounds like it, yes.”

Well. Shit.

“Why did you really come back, Anakin?” Obi-Wan implored. “I know there’s more. I can see it in your eyes that you want something else.”

He stepped forward, and Anakin took a step back. He was worried that if Obi-Wan started touching his face again he might do something stupid like start crying again. 

Anakin watched the always neutral, calm expression on Obi-Wan’s face open into something more sincere. Concerned. It sent his heart thumping harder in his chest. 

“I, perhaps, came on a bit too strongly last time,” Obi-Wan said, and there was regret in that soft timbre. “I apologize for that. I didn’t mean to scare you away.”

Anakin remained resolutely silent. He could feel his pulse in his ears.

“Let me help you, Anakin. Please.”

“I don’t want your help,” Anakin said, clenching his fist in his pocket. “And I’m not coming back, so you can find someone else to give your dumb books to.”

“Like my students?” Obi-Wan suggested lightly, but his brow was creased in a frown.

“I don’t care who,” Anakin snapped. “I don’t even know you. This has all been fucking weird.” 

“I didn’t ask you to break into my house,” Obi-Wan reminded him gently.

While he didn’t say it accusingly, reality still flooded in and it fired off something in his brain that sent him directly into fight or flight mode.

He slammed the door closed on his way out.

* * *

Padmé opened after the first knock. “Ani! What have you been up to lately?”

“Uh, you know. Odd jobs.”

She stepped aside so he could enter the apartment. Sabé was curled up on the couch, scrolling through her phone while the television was turned on to some action film he didn’t recognize. Two glasses of wine and a large bowl of popcorn sat on the coffee table.

He had forgotten it was Saturday. A part of him wanted to turn back around.

“Can I get you something to drink? Water, coffee?”

His stomach churned. “No, I’m good. Is it okay if I crash here tonight?”

Padmé offered a patient smile. “Of course you can. We’ve got no big plans tonight.”

He joined them for the rest of the movie, settling into the couch and letting the sounds from the television lull his heart back to a more normal rate. It was familiar; the chatter of their ongoing commentary, the _pop_ of another bottle of wine being opened.

“I’m probably going to get evicted,” he said when the credits started rolling.

Padmé muted the television. “Evicted? Ani, you didn’t tell us it was that bad.”

“I told you I’d help you get set up with camming,” Sabé said, leaning over to look at him from her corner of the couch.

And she had said that, more than once. He’d almost taken her up on the offer the first month that he couldn’t make rent. It seemed like a fairly easy way to make a little bit of money, and seeing how successful she’d been with it made it tempting. He wasn’t even opposed to the idea of selling his body—really, it sounded kind of fun. That wasn’t the problem.

He shook his head and grabbed another handful of popcorn, speaking around the mouthful. “Still not gonna do it. Really don’t wanna be someone’s weird fetish porn.”

Padmé’s face fell. “Don’t say that.”

“People will get off to you because you’re hot,” Sabé said. “Not because of the arm.”

“Baby,” Padmé chided gently.

Anakin hated the fleeting look of worry she sent his way.

“It’s true though,” Sabé said, softer this time. “If you really need the money, I’ll get you set up. Just text me.”

“Thanks.” He reached for another handful and chewed for a while, contemplating if he should bring the next thing up. “I met someone.”

Both of them sat up straighter.

“Who?” 

“How?”

“He’s actually a professor at your college. I mean, I’m assuming it’s your college. He lives really close to here.”

“Ooh, a professor. What does he teach?”

“Ethics, I guess? Like Kant and stuff.”

“We might know him then. What’s his name?” Sabé asked.

“Kenobi.”

The name didn’t seem to ring a bell for either of them. 

“He’s probably in the philosophy department then,” Padmé explained. “Not as much crossover with law as you’d think.”

“If you’re dating a professor, can’t he help you out with rent?”

Anakin laughed to cover up how much he was regretting bringing this up. “We’re not dating. Like at all. I just, I dunno. I met him.”

Sabé reached for her wine. “Well you should start dating him if you’re not going to start camming.”

Around midnight they decided to call it a night. Padmé brought out some blankets and pillows for him to arrange on the couch how he usually did. With only the nightlight in the kitchen providing any light he couldn’t make out more than her silhouette as she sat down on the coffee table across from him.

“I’m sorry,” tumbled out.

“It’s okay. I told you you’re always welcome here. I mean, ideally, it would be nice to have more warning—”

“It won’t happen again,” he said quickly. 

He was glad he couldn’t see her face because he was sure he’d find pity there. 

“...goodnight, Ani.”

“Goodnight.”

He lay awake for over an hour, staring at the dark light of the still-warm television screen.

* * *

Regrettably he woke to sunlight streaming into his eyes around seven in the morning. He decided right then that he might as well get out of there before Padmé and Sabé woke up.

No need to interrupt their Sunday morning too.

He didn’t even pretend to head toward the bus stop that would take him home.

He was texting Padmé to let her know that he had gone home when he felt the bed shift ever so slightly. He looked up to see Obi-Wan looking over at him, squinting against sleep and the sun pouring in from the window behind him.

“Hello, Anakin.”

He dropped his phone onto the bed and rolled over to face him. “Good morning, Professor.” 

“...I see you’re in my house.”

“Yep.”

Obi-Wan propped himself up on his elbows and scrubbed a hand over his beard. “I was under the impression that you wouldn’t be coming back. After you explicitly told me you wouldn’t be coming back.”

“I forgot that I had a question for you.”

“A question.”

“Yep. An important one.”

“Mmm. And what’s the question?”

Anakin scrunched up his nose. “Were you really going to let me smoke weed in your house?”

Obi-Wan’s head fell back onto the pillow and he let out an airy sigh that might’ve been a laugh. “There’s a terrace. Connected to my office. You didn’t see it?”

“Didn’t really snoop around in there. Nothing worth swiping.” He grinned and reveled in the way that Obi-Wan frowned back at him.

“Is that really why you broke into my house yet again and crawled into my bed on a Sunday morning? To ask me that?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Alright. Well, there’s your answer. Thank you for at least taking your shoes off before climbing into my bed. Very considerate.”

Anakin nodded toward the corner of the room. “That’s a big mirror.”

“Indeed.” Obi-Wan threw the covers aside and stood up. 

Admittedly, Anakin hadn’t entirely thought this whole _crawling into his bed_ thing through.

He was met with the sight of a tight white tee shirt and even tighter black boxers. As Obi-Wan stretched and reached for the pair of sweatpants on the dresser Anakin’s eyes zeroed in on the bulge filling out those boxers.

_Fuck._

He had to swallow around the extra saliva in his mouth before he could speak. “Kinda makes you seem like a narcissist.”

“Plenty of people have mirrors in their bedroom.”

Anakin couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight of Obi-Wan adjusting himself, arms flexing while he tied up the waist. He was confident in his movements, seemingly unbothered with having a stranger watching him get dressed. “Not old men.”

“Right, well, this old man is going down to make breakfast. I suppose you can feel free to raid my closet or whatever it is you want to do in here.”

Anakin only waited a minute before he followed him downstairs to the kitchen and slid onto one of the stools at the island. He watched Obi-Wan pull down a second plate.

“My sincerest apologies, but I don’t have any coffee. You’ll have to settle for tea.”

“What’s that?” Anakin pointed to the espresso machine on the counter.

“Oh, that thing’s been broken for over a year. Just decoration now.”

“And you haven’t fixed it?”

“I thought about getting a new one, but I really don’t drink enough espresso to make it worth it.”

He paused just as he was getting a skillet off the rack. “Actually, I do have instant coffee around here somewhere.” Anakin watched him rise up on the balls of his feet to dig around in the top shelf of the pantry. He pulled down a nearly-full container of coffee grounds and inspected the label. “A friend of mine says it’s… palatable.”

Anakin shrugged. “Probably better than what I’m used to.”

He observed from his comfortable perch while his host prepared breakfast. He was quiet, methodical. Efficient. Anakin had a full plate and a mug of coffee in front of him in less than ten minutes.

He jabbed at the eggs and took as big of a bite as he could manage.

“So… Guessing you don’t eat meat?”

“Please don’t talk while you’re eating. And no, I haven’t for years. It’s a habit I picked up from an old… mentor.”

The funny way he said _mentor_ made him look up from his food, but Obi-Wan didn’t elaborate, too busy spreading jam on a slice of toast.

“What do you like to eat, Anakin?”

Anakin grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl and opened his mouth wide around an overly large bite before speaking. “I take whatever I can get in my mouth.”

Obi-Wan watched him chew with narrowed eyes, cup held steady and raised to his lips. When Anakin finally swallowed he took a sip. “Surely you have preferences.”

“Mmm, I do.” Anakin licked the traces of juice from his lips. “Have preferences.”

Obi-Wan remained frustratingly unruffled and they finished eating in silence. He’d been right, the coffee was just barely on the right side of drinkable, but he didn’t exactly have much room to be picky. Honestly, the food was good, better than anything he’d made for himself in a while.

He decided to be picky anyway.

“Well, if your old _mentor_ is anything like that colleague of yours, maybe you should let go of your ex’s habits and rediscover the joys of bacon, because let me tell you—”

Obi-Wan’s hand shot across the island and grabbed his chin between thumb and forefinger. “Stop talking.”

His jaw snapped shut.

It was an automatic thing. For a split second he felt like a kid about to receive a lashing across his knuckles.

But he wasn’t. 

“Why should I?”

That thumb dug harder into his chin, not pressing in enough to hurt but enough to deter him from pulling back. “I suppose you really have no reason to do what I ask. Do you?”

Anakin swallowed thickly. 

Obi-Wan let go and the fingers that had been holding him still were back to being wrapped around the handle of his cup.

He took a long drink and Anakin studied the line of his throat, watched him swallow.

“What do you want from me, Anakin? Why do you keep coming back?”

“The stuff I took didn’t give you any hints?”

“It would’ve been far smarter for you to take it all at once. Move onto the next house. I _caught_ you. And yet you’re still breaking into my home. At this point I have to imagine it has something to do with me. So what is it? What do you want from me?”

The short answer was money _._

Any other answer wasn’t something he was willing to drag up to the surface right now.

“Your erratic behavior gives me the impression that you’re asking for help.”

“I’m not your charity case.”

“Certainly not. If I wanted to put my time and money toward the welfare of society there are far better options.”

For the second time in twenty-four hours he found himself biting his tongue. 

“I think you’re looking to get your life back on track. Would you like me to guide you? Provide structure for you?”

Anakin wet his lips. “How?”

“We would probably start with your attitude. Work toward cleaning up your appearance. Fix up your résumé, since I’m fairly certain at this point that you’re not legally employed anywhere.”

“So you’re offering to help me get a job.” 

“Among other things. Yes.”

It was a weird thing to offer a stranger. On second thought, it probably wasn’t that different from Obi-Wan’s job as a professor. 

But it was still weird.

“Is this a sex thing?”

The air was heavy between them for a long, tense moment.

“No. It doesn’t have to be.”

“What if I want it to be a sex thing?”

Obi-Wan was searching for something in his eyes and it took everything he had not to break under his intense gaze.

“Have you had a Dominant before?”

Padmé using a strap a few times probably didn’t count. 

“No.”

“Then we’d have to work up to that. If we did at all.”

“If it’s not just a sex thing, what would you be getting out of this?”

“You said it yourself, didn’t you?” His eyes were full of mirth. “I’ve got a horrid savior complex.”

Anakin rolled his eyes at the incredibly obvious cop-out. Obi-Wan definitely had other reasons for doing this. He just couldn’t quite figure them out yet.

He had to assume it was a sex thing. Hope it was a sex thing.

“Take some time to think about it. You have no pressure to let me know either way, it’s your prerogative if you even want to come back at all. With that said, I’m going to get ready for my day.”

“It’s Sunday.”

“And I’m expected somewhere. If you do decide to stay, don’t go into my office.”

“I won’t go into your office,” Anakin said.

“Good.” Obi-Wan finished his tea and headed for the stairs.

“Aren’t you forgetting the dishes?”

Obi-Wan only glanced back at him briefly. “Of course not, darling. You’re doing them.”

* * *

It was mid-afternoon by the time he heard the sound of the front door opening. 

“I fixed the espresso machine.”

“You did what?”

Anakin twisted around and nearly fell off the stool. He’d been elbow-deep in soapy water when Obi-Wan had come back down the stairs and he hadn’t seen him leave for the day.

He was wearing dark jeans, _tight_ dark jeans, tucked into boots, and a brown leather jacket that definitely looked a size too big, but maybe it was supposed to look like that. Very James Dean, very much _not cable knit._ His hair was clearly windswept, still somehow artful in the way the strands fell into his face. He dropped a set of keys on the counter and went to the sink.

Anakin eyed the key fob. “You have a car?”

“I don’t,” he said while inspecting the drying rack, offering no further explanation.

He filed that away for later. “I fixed the espresso machine. It wasn’t that hard, didn’t even need tools for it.”

“So he’s a benevolent burglar now.” Obi-Wan turned and gave him a look that made something warm and golden bloom in his chest. “Thank you, Anakin. I appreciate you doing that for me.”

“I want it,” he blurted.

That made Obi-Wan stop putting dishes away altogether. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“The… I want you to help me. In the way you said.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “You should take more time to think about this.”

“No, I’ve thought about it. I want to do this.”

“If I take you on for this… informal mentorship, I’m going to expect you to take it seriously. I’m going to expect you to _listen_ to me. Can you do that?”

“I— yeah, I can.”

“You need to be just as committed as I am, Anakin. That is non-negotiable if you want my help.”

He leaned his elbows on the island and Anakin found himself transfixed by the creasing leather.

“If I buy you a jacket, will you wear it?”

“Is it going to be tweed?”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow.

“...yes, I’ll wear it.”

“If I tell you to stop doing things that are illegal, will you stop?”

“I really can’t promise you that one.”

Obi-Wan sighed and pushed off the counter. “I guess that’s the best I’m going to get. For now.”

Anakin let him finish putting the dishes away before he opened his mouth again. “So. Since we’re doing this. And you want to help me get my life back on track. I do owe three months’ rent by tomorrow morning.”

Obi-Wan didn’t even seem fazed. Almost like he had been waiting for this. “How much do you need?”

“Nine hundred, with utilities.”

Obi-Wan disappeared upstairs for several minutes and Anakin felt his heart beating in overtime for every second that stretched on. What was Obi-Wan doing? What was _he_ doing?

He returned with a necklace that he spread out on the counter. “This should be worth more than enough. I’d offer cash but I’d prefer to keep my more liquid assets in the bank for now. Believe it or not, I’m not made of money. I do only get paid a professor’s salary.”

Anakin admired the pretty iridescent gemstones before stuffing it in his pocket. “Yeah, well something about all these family heirlooms you have laying around tells me you don’t exactly have student loans you’re paying off.”

Obi-Wan gave him a long appraising look that was starting to stir up certain feelings.

Certain feelings in his dick.

“Why do you have a padlocked safe in your office?”

“For things I want to keep hidden,” Obi-Wan said. 

“What would Kant say abo—”

“Give me your phone, Anakin.”

The steely undercurrent to his voice had blood rushing to his cock. He unlocked his phone and slid it over before shifting uncomfortably on his seat.

Anakin watched entranced as Obi-Wan typed something in before giving him his phone back.

Then he reached out to hold his chin between warm fingers and Anakin’s breath caught.

His hold was so much softer this time, thumb lightly brushing over his skin as if soothing a hurt. Something about it was making him feel woozy. “You should see yourself right now. You’re remarkably eager to please once you put that belligerent façade away.”

He was close enough that Anakin could, theoretically, reach under the counter and grab that big cock tucked into tight pants, try to gauge if Obi-Wan was getting just as hard as he was.

Almost as if sensing his thoughts, Obi-Wan backed away.

“Do you have a place to sleep tonight?”

“Yeah, I do. My apartment.”

“Good. I need the evening to prep for the week.”

Anakin walked to the bus stop on wobbly legs.

His phone buzzed a few hours after he got home. A text from _Kenobi._

_7pm tomorrow. Don’t be late._

Another text came in while he was changing the contact name to 🍆.

_Use the doorbell._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin learns what Obi-Wan's definition of a mentorship is. He's not happy about it.

He walked up the steps of the brownstone with his stomach twisting in knots.

It was stupid to feel nervous. It had always been weird to walk up to this door, because he’d always been _breaking in,_ and at least a little worried about getting caught and arrested.

This was an entirely different feeling of unease.

Before, he knew where they stood. It wasn’t a good standing, by any means, but at least he could safely say they were strangers and it made _sense._

Now, he didn’t know what this was.

Anakin knocked.

Obi-Wan took a long while to get to the door. He was very suspicious that it was on purpose.

When he finally answered, Obi-Wan looked as posh and put-together as ever, hair perfectly coiffed even at the end of the day, still dressed in the olive green sweater and beige slacks that he’d probably worn to work. “You’re late.”

Anakin squawked indignantly. “By—” He checked his phone. “Six minutes! The bus was running late.”

“Of course it was.” Obi-Wan waved him in. “Did you eat dinner?”

Suddenly Anakin was thinking about his shoes. Obi-Wan didn’t wear shoes in his house. Should he take off his shoes?

“Yeah.”

“What was it?”

Anakin decided to toe off his sneakers and leave them in the foyer before he followed Obi-Wan into the kitchen. “Uh. Tomato soup and fruit snacks.”

Obi-Wan eyed him dubiously. “...together?”

“I mean, the fruit snacks were like, dessert. You know, the strawberry-vanilla ones? In the—”

Obi-Wan put up a hand. “I know which ones you’re talking about.” He gestured to a barstool. “I have an aubergine bake coming out of the oven in a few minutes. Could you grab us plates out of that cabinet there?”

Anakin couldn’t help it; as soon as he had food in front of him he practically inhaled it. It was hot, it tasted good, and best of all it was free.

Kinda.

As soon as they finished eating, Anakin propped his elbow up on the counter and rested his chin on his hand. “So, what are we doing tonight, Prof? Now that you’ve got me after hours.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes flashed with something bordering on amusement, but when he spoke his voice even. “I suppose we’ll start our _lesson,_ of sorts. Go to the living room and wait for me.”

Anakin scrambled to do just that. 

He found his usual spot on the sofa, feeling restless and unable to sit still. Minutes inched by with him listening in on Obi-Wan messing around in the kitchen—dishes clacking, water running—until he finally heard footsteps go up the stairs and he was left in silence. 

When Obi-Wan returned he wasn’t empty-handed. He’d brought down a suitcase, the type that lawyers and CEOs took with them on planes for business trips or whatever they did. It looked new, a deep brown leather without any scuffs or fading. 

The suitcase sat innocuously on the seat of the armchair while Obi-Wan poured himself a drink. 

“Are you safe?”

The abruptness of the question startled him. Anakin tore his gaze from the suitcase and looked up at him. “What?”

“Are you safe?” Obi-Wan repeated. “Do you feel safe in your home? Do you—” Obi-Wan’s voice lowered and his gaze was entirely focused on him. “Are you afraid to go home for any reason?”

Anakin absently played with the cuff of his sweatshirt. “I mean, I live in a dump, so I guess I’m always worried about finding rats there. But I’m— yeah, I’m safe.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “Good. That’s good to hear, Anakin.” He pulled from his drink. “Who do you have in your life that you trust?”

Again, the non sequitur confused him. “I have… some friends. That I trust.”

“And they know that you’re… troubled?”

He bristled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Obi-Wan held up a placating hand. “That was poor phrasing, I’m sorry— do your friends know that you’re financially wanting, enough to be breaking into homes, and possibly engaging in other criminal activities?”

“Not… not really. They know some of it.” They definitely didn’t have a clear picture of the debt he had tied around his neck.

“Alright. Thank you, Anakin. I appreciate your honesty.” Another pull. “What do you want to do with your life?”

It sounded like a rehearsed question, but Anakin didn’t have a rehearsed answer. “I don’t know.”

“Have you worked recently?”

“Yeah. I was working at a mechanic’s before… now.”

“Did you enjoy that work?”

He shrugged. “I mean, yeah. I’d been there since— since high school. Watto gave me good hours. Kinda let me do my own thing.”

Something weird flitted across Obi-Wan’s face but he quickly schooled his expression back to neutral. “Why aren’t you working there anymore?”

Anakin thinned his lips. 

Obi-Wan gracefully accepted that he wasn’t going to explain a single word of it. “Would you like to work there again? If you could?”

“I mean, _yeah,_ I guess. I liked working there. But that’s never going to happen, so… doesn’t really matter.”

“Do you see yourself as a mechanic long-term? Are there any other professions you’ve thought about?”

Anakin wasn’t sure why he was sharing this but the words fell out of his mouth of their own accord. “I used to want to be a pilot. Like, a commercial one.”

Obi-Wan seemed to ruminate on that and Anakin grew uncomfortable, watching him swirl his drink. 

_Why did he say that?_

“I’d like to reframe our relationship into something that looks more like a normal mentorship that I’d have with one of my students,” Obi-Wan finally said. 

Anakin’s face fell.

“To do that, we need to set some ground rules about you coming in and out of my house. I deserve to have peace of mind in my own home, just like anyone does. That’s hard when you wake up in bed with someone you didn’t go to bed with.”

“You could fix that easily if you would just let me come in your bed the night before.”

Obi-Wan made a point of ignoring him. “You can’t waltz into my house whenever you feel like it.”

“So... I have to wait for you to invite me over?”

“Yes.”

Obi-Wan was being ridiculously unfair about this.

“I don’t do great with homework. I’ll probably need a lot of one-on-one time with you, Prof.”

“Wait for me to invite you over.” His voice held a sense of finality.

Anakin didn’t push it further.

“I have an evening class on Tuesdays and Thursdays, but the rest of my week is fairly open. We can plan to meet on Mondays and Wednesdays at this same time, at least to start.”

Obi-Wan leaned down to open the suitcase, revealing its contents to be clothes, neatly organized on hangers. He pulled out what looked like a _really_ nice jacket and held it up for his own inspection.

“Sweatshirt off, please. I want you to try this on.”

Anakin hesitated. He hadn’t been expecting that. “Only if you turn around.”

Obi-Wan complied without a word, holding the garment out. Anakin hurried to get his sweatshirt off and replace it with the jacket, pulling it on over his tee shirt. Although the thick, black suede material was nice, it felt weird on his body. It was almost too nice.

“Okay. I’ve got it on.”

Obi-Wan appraised him. “Oh, good. It looks like it fits you just how it should. Does it have enough room in the shoulders?"

He rolled his shoulders. "Yeah."

"Good. I knew a bomber would suit you.” 

Obi-Wan dug into a pocket of the suitcase and pulled out a small case, opening it. 

Anakin froze. “Nope. I’m not using those.”

“Please just give it a try,” Obi-Wan said, voice soft as he approached him. “I only got these for you because I don’t want you worrying about a loose sleeve anymore. Especially once you’re back at work, you don’t want that as a hindrance. Will you let me show you?”

Anakin held his breath, forcing himself to watch while Obi-Wan slowly rolled up the sleeve of the jacket and pinned it in place at his elbow.

“There.” Obi-Wan gave a satisfied little nod. “I’d like you to try this out for a little while. See if that’s more comfortable.”

All Anakin could do was nod, heart still hammering away in his chest.

Obi-Wan pulled a few books down from the nearest bookcase and set them on the coffee table. It was a small stack, but it was still a _stack._

“Sticky tabs? Is it all color-coded, too?”

“I’ve marked what I’d like you to read by Wednesday.”

Shit. That was _so much reading._

“I think this is a good place to end it for tonight.”

Anakin blinked incredulously. “What? Already? We didn’t do anything.”

Obi-Wan smiled at him, amused and maybe a little bit fond. “On the contrary, I think you have quite a bit of reading to get through. And, quite a collection of clothes to try on.”

* * *

“So, that professor,” Sabé said. “He’s a top, right?”

Anakin nearly choked. He looked up from the paragraph he’d been rereading for the tenth time. “What? How would I know that?”

She shrugged. “I mean, I was assuming you met him on Grindr and would have those details kinda sorted out.”

Oh, shit. “Uh… yeah. Yep. He is.” He chewed his lip. “At least I think so.”

“Has it just been one date?”

“I told you, we aren’t dating. But yeah I’ve… met up with him a few times. No sex. Yet.”

“But he’s giving you money?”

“Yeah.”

“Is he old? Is this like one of those old rich guys that just wants someone pretty to take to church and show off to all of their church friends?”

Anakin snorted. When Obi-Wan had disappeared on Sunday morning he _definitely_ didn’t look like he’d been dressed to go to church. “He’s young. He’s actually kind of, like, mentoring me.”

“Sexually?”

Anakin stopped himself from pouting too obviously. “No.”

“Have you been to his house yet?”

“...yes.”

“And no sex? That’s kinda weird.” 

“Yeah, I know.”

“Wait,” Padmé cut in, glancing up from her textbook. “He must have a faculty photo. Let me pull up the philosophy department’s page.” 

Sabé leaned in closer to see her girlfriend’s laptop screen and Anakin found himself unable to draw his eyes away either. 

He realized he definitely could have looked him up earlier, made sure he was actually a professor like he said he was.

He was struck with the realization that Obi-Wan had probably looked _him_ up already. _Anakin_ wasn’t common enough of a name for him to have any difficulty finding his last name, and where he went to high school, and all the police reports, and—

“Here! I found him,” Padmé cheered. “Dr. Obi-Wan Kenobi, moral philosophy and ethics. Oh my, Ani.”

Sabé clicked her tongue. “Yeah, that’s a top.” 

Anakin felt a wave of relief wash over him at the familiar face on Padmé’s screen. Obi-Wan looked younger in the picture, although not by much. The static nature of the picture drew attention to the neutral line of his lips under auburn bristles, and while Anakin supposed it could be considered a pleasantly mild smile, there was something that looked almost… sad about it.

Maybe it had more to do with the eyes.

“It’s good to know he’s not some serial killer,” Padmé was saying.

“I mean, you still can’t rule that out.”

“Can you see what classes he teaches?” Anakin asked.

Sabé grinned. “We can see his whole schedule.”

Padmé pulled up another tab on her browser. “Our class schedule builder,” she explained. “We can filter by professor and it’ll show us the classes he teaches, what time, where… basically everything.”

“Including the building?”

“And classroom number,” Sabé chirped.

“Here it is.” Padmé tiled the screen toward him.

Anakin scanned it quickly. Two class sections of _Introduction to Ethics,_ taught back-to-back on Mondays and Wednesdays. Another lower-level course called _Moral Problems of Contemporary Society._ And then _Contemporary Aristotelian Ethics,_ a graduate level course.

So _that_ was the class Obi-Wan had in the evenings.

“He teaches that intro class in the same building we had political science classes,” Padmé commented.

Anakin pulled out his phone and took a picture of the screen.

“Gonna go play student?” Sabé smirked. 

“Maybe.”

He had something else in mind.

For now.

* * *

He made it to Irving Street about a half hour before Obi-Wan’s introductory ethics class started, which gave him the perfect amount of time for what he needed to do.

Anakin knelt in front of the floor-length mirror that was propped up in the corner of the bedroom. The day’s partly cloudy sky meant there was soft light filtering in through the window, just enough that he didn’t think he needed to turn on a light.

He was determined to get Obi-Wan to fuck him.

Turn this into a legitimate sugar daddy situation.

That way, it would make more sense in his head. Anakin got money and clothes—and also unwanted books—and Obi-Wan got sex. Really, it would be a win for Anakin all around.

Not that he thought Obi-Wan needed to pay anyone to get sex.

As soon as he started to pull his sweatshirt off he stopped.

Fuck, the arm.

He’d forgotten about the arm.

Really, this was a stupid idea in the first place. He should just dig around in the pantry for something decent to eat and dip out.

But— okay, there were angles he could work with. Maybe some cropping too.

He stripped off his sweatshirt and the tee shirt he wore underneath and tossed them up onto the bed. 

He hadn’t actually done this before, but he knew what poses he liked to see others in, so he figured he could just replicate those the best he could and that would be good enough.

Anakin unbuttoned his jeans and pulled down the zipper just enough to have access to his cock. He reached under the waistband and started to stroke himself to hardness. He took his time with it, eyes drifting around a room that was more familiar than it should be and yet still so foreign. It was so _clean,_ so different from his own bedroom, or his lack of bedroom. His mattress rested on the floor about six feet away from his dinky kitchenette.

He thought back to Sunday, when Obi-Wan had grabbed his chin and forced him to be still, to look him in the eyes. It had shocked him, the firm touch, all that intensity directed at him.

His cock was straining against his underwear now, throbbing more with every second he continued to think about that moment. Anakin positioned himself close to the mirror with his knees splayed wide, underwear bulging between his open zipper. He sat back on his heels and leaned so that it maybe, sort of, looked like he could’ve been supporting himself with his other hand on the floor. He flexed his abdominals and took a handful of pictures, angling himself in different ways to play with light and shadows.

At the last minute he decided to pull his cock out of his underwear, jeans pushed low, and take a few more pictures.

He wasn’t totally happy with any of them, but he picked out the best ones and sent them to 🍆.

_hope u have a good class prof ;)_

A text lit up his screen while Anakin was getting milk from the fridge, around the time that Obi-Wan’s class was supposed to end.

_Be sitting on the sofa when I get home._

Anakin spent the rest of the afternoon at Obi-Wan’s house, anticipating his arrival.

“Welcome home, Prof,” Anakin greeted him over the back of the sofa.

Obi-Wan was silent while he stripped off his blazer and hung it on the coat rack. He disappeared upstairs for a heart-pounding minute before he returned to the living room and dropped a book in Anakin’s lap. “Turn to page one-ten.”

All of his built-up excitement fizzled out like a lit match doused in water.

“Read it aloud, please. From the top of the page.”

 _What?_ He hadn’t read anything out loud since high school. That was literally the last thing he wanted to do right now. What kind of a punishment was this?

Obi-Wan was looking at him expectantly.

Anakin cleared his throat and started to read.

“...conceptions that are shared by one or another ideas— idea, of what we owe to and can claim from one another.” 

He had no idea what he was reading. It was hard enough trying to understand this stuff while reading it in his head, but reading it out loud made it completely impossible, especially when he was rusty at this and he felt like he was stuttering on every other word.

He was still on the first page when Obi-Wan sat down in the armchair across from him and opened up his own book. Anakin tried to stay focused on the words but it was hard when Obi-Wan was so clearly ignoring him.What was the point of this if Obi-Wan wasn’t even listening? 

He was three pages in; how long was Obi-Wan going to make him do this? 

“Read those last couple of sentences again, Anakin. I’m not certain you understood them.”

Anakin sucked in a frustrated breath. “Whether they—”

“Wrong sentence.”

God, he was getting hard in his pants. He was grateful he had the book to cover it because he wasn’t sure his jeans were doing enough to hide it. The way Obi-Wan was so nonchalantly chastising him, _ignoring_ him, was inexplicably sending blood south.

“...I believe that the concen— conceptions of well-being that figure in moral thinking, more generally, can be expected to diverge in similar ways from the conceptions that individuals might use in ac— assessing their own lives.” 

He swallowed around the embarrassment constricting his throat. “Whether they diverge or not, however, that is to... _Whether they diverge or not, however,_ these conceptions of well-being will be moral conceptions; that is to say, they derive their significance, and to a certain extent, their distinctive shape, from their role in the moral structures in which they figure.”

“Can you put that into your own words?”

“No. I have no clue what I’m reading.”

Obi-Wan frowned _._ “Anakin. I can’t help you better yourself if you aren’t willing to put in any effort.”

He scanned over the words again, praying that something would click. “I think… I think it’s saying that well-being and morals are connected.”

“Very good, Anakin.”

His cock twitched within its tight confines. This was _not good._

“There’s more nuance than that, but you understand the concept,” Obi-Wan continued, finally setting his own book down. “Two people, both outwardly successful—healthy, financially stable, possessing intimate relationships—may have vastly different senses of well-being. This is because Scanlon believes that immorality eats away at us. It ravages our sense of well-being on an almost subconscious level.

“Becoming at peace with ourselves requires belief in our own morality—belief that, overall, we are doing right by ourselves and others.”

Obi-Wan leaned forward, all of his attention on him. Anakin felt pinned by his gaze, even though he _knew_ he could leave whenever he wanted. 

“I specifically asked you not to be in my house while I’m not here. Do you think you did right by me when you disobeyed that fairly simple request?”

He tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry and it just made him work harder to suck in air. “No. I didn’t.”

“Part of improving your own well-being is learning to treat others with respect. Today you proved that you don’t respect me when you broke into my home, yet again.”

Through the haze of guilt, his mind latched onto a detail that felt important. “Wait, so you’re upset that I broke in? You aren’t upset about the nudes?”

“You’re missing the point here.” 

Obi-Wan stood up and walked around the back of the sofa, out of Anakin’s line of sight.

Anakin stared down at the open book in his lap, not sure what he should be doing. 

Everything about this had him frustrated, ashamed, and _horny._

He flinched when something touched the top of his head. A hand in his hair; _petting_ him in small, almost imperceptible motions. Just that little bit of touch sent shivers down his spine to his aching cock. He had to bite back a whimper.

“I’m trying to keep this professional, Anakin,” Obi-Wan was saying in a mesmerizingly low tone. “I don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything sexually just because I’ve offered my help.”

_Help that includes a shitload of money._

He sorely mourned the loss of the hand in his hair.

Obi-Wan didn’t even look at him as he walked to the hutch. “You’re dismissed for the night. Take the book with you.”

Anakin was lying awake in bed when his phone buzzed.

_Monday’s lesson is canceled. I will let you know when I’ve decided what to do moving forward._

* * *

He really did try his best to get through his assigned reading.

The morning after his horribly unsexy punishment he’d sent Obi-Wan a picture of his open book with a text.

_having a hard time with p 69 can u help me out??_

He didn’t get a response.

Halfway through Friday he tried again.

_i’m not getting how deontological and utilitarian can go together like what if u have good intentions but a bad thing happens? can u explain_

If he checked his phone for a response every five minutes he wasn’t ever going to admit it.

Anakin usually said no whenever Padmé invited him out to drinks on the weekend. Bars were expensive and he didn’t like to drink anyway. It was so much easier just to go over to their apartment for a chill night.

But Padmé and Sabé had just finished their first round of midterms for the semester and they wanted to celebrate. 

For once, Anakin felt like he could use a drink. He’d been on edge all day with nothing to do other than read Kant and John Stuart Mill. So when Padmé texted him about meeting up at their usual bar at nine, he said yes.

“Ani, please tell me you didn’t bring in alcohol.”

“I didn’t!”

He’d picked up a half pint of the cheapest vodka he could find and was already a quarter of the way through it before he’d shown up at the bar. He ordered a beer with their first round of drinks but otherwise stuck with stolen sips from the bottle in his jacket pocket.

A woman at the hightop across from them had been looking over at him for the better part of the hour. He could wander up to the bar and she would probably join him, was probably eager to ditch her friends and go back to his place. Or— it’d need to be her place.

She was pretty, though. He could definitely do that. Do her.

“Obi-Wan doesn’t want me.”

Suddenly he had too many eyes on him. “What?”

“This is the professor, right?”

“I don’t even know what he wants.” He couldn’t stop staring at the liquor bottles above the bar. They were pretty, all lined up neatly like that. Artful. “Maybe I’m like an experiment. Or he’s, he’s, like getting information on me. For the cops.”

“Honey.” There was a hand on his shoulder. Padmé’s hand, he realized. Why was his ex touching him?

He could barely hear Sabé over the drone of voices and music. “Have you told him what you want?”

“Yeah, obviously. We had a _whole_ thing. It was like a _whole thing_ about why I kept breaking in—” Shit. “Yeah, we did, we did do that. I told him that.”

“...okay. So he knows you want to date him?”

“I don’t want to date him.”

“Then what is this about?”

And that’s the thing, he didn’t _know._

 _This_ was probably nothing. Probably all in his head. Fuck, he’d really sent him nudes in the man’s own bedroom, after breaking in _again_ —

“I have to go,” he blurted, and made for the door as quickly as he could without stumbling.

Outside the bar was almost as loud as inside. People were hopping from bar to bar, laughing and yelling, bumping into him, running out into the street and getting honked at.

He jumped when a hand touched his shoulder.

“Ani, I don’t trust you taking the bus alone right now.”

“S’gonna walk.”

“That’s not happening. Do you want us to take you home?”

He shook his head.

“Okay. Let’s get you a taxi.”

He stood there, staring at the sidewalk and trying very hard to sober up while Padmé held her hand out until a taxi pulled up in front of them.

“Do you have money?”

“I don’t…”

“Here.” Padmé handed him a few bills from her purse. He struggled to stuff it all into his pocket, his hand feeling shaky and loose as if disconnected from his body.

“Text me when you’re home.”

“Mmhmm. I will. Love you.”

Padmé had a strange, worried look on her face from what he could see of her through the back window of the taxi. 

“Where ya headed?”

Anakin slumped down sideways onto the seat. “Home.”

“Yeah, I know that part. What’s the address?”

“Sixty-five… five-sixty-two Irving Street.”

“Uh huh. You got it.”

The world outside the taxi was a blur. The traffic lights were all glowy and pretty, bursting out from the center when he squinted his eyes at them.

Like stars.

“Here we are.”

Anakin forced himself to sit up and immediately got hit with a wave of nausea. “Already?”

“Yep. That’s twenty-three sixty-one.”

Anakin stared at the meter’s glowing screen.

Yep, that looked like numbers.

Did he have money? He never had money. He was going to have to make a run for it but he really didn’t feel like running right now.

Wait. Padmé gave him money.

“Here.” 

The driver took the bills from his hand and let him leave the taxi so it must’ve been enough.

He tried to pick the lock for what felt like hours before he gave up and started knocking. 

Light flooded his vision as soon as the door opened and he had to squint against it to see anything. 

“Anakin?”

“Hi.”

Obi-Wan didn’t look happy to see him. Was he mad at him?

“You’ve been drinking. I thought you didn’t drink.”

“Can I come in?”

Obi-Wan sighed and gestured him forward. 

“I really can’t believe you.”

“‘m sorry.” 

Fuck. He felt like _shit._

It was so bright inside Obi-Wan’s house and Obi-Wan was already mad at him. 

“Were you out with friends?”

Anakin nodded, or tried to, and flopped down onto the sofa. “Padmé. And Sabé. We got drinks.”

Obi-Wan remained standing a few feet away, looking down at him. Judging him.

Anakin’s stomach churned.

“Why were you drinking?”

He rubbed his face into the sofa. _Mmm._ It was really soft, some nice soft fabric that felt nice and soft on his cheek. He could fall asleep right here where it was soft and nice.

“Anakin.”

“Because I wanted to.” 

A sigh. “You know, before you showed up drunk at my door I was having a very nice, quiet evening.”

“Without me? That’s not very nice, Prof—” He hiccuped. “Professor.”

Obi-Wan didn’t seem to have much to say to that. 

He looked really nice, though. It was way too bright in the room but he stared at him anyway. Wait— did he have glasses on? Did he always wear glasses?

Obi-Wan sounded more impatient the next time he spoke. “What on earth compelled you to drink this much and then show up here?”

Oh, so that’s how it was gonna be? 

Anakin leveled what he hoped was a defiant glare up at him. “Because you won’t fuck me.”

Another sigh. “Anakin, you...”

He reached out his hand, pleading with his eyes for Obi-Wan to come forward. After a few seconds he whispered, “Obi-Wan, please.”

As soon as Obi-Wan got close enough Anakin swung his legs off the sofa and dropped to the floor so fast he made himself a little woozy with it. But it didn’t matter.

He dove face-first into Obi-Wan’s crotch.

“What—”

He nuzzled into the fabric and moaned loudly, angrily, holding Obi-Wan tight to prevent him from moving, keeping him right where he needed him. “Obi-Wan. Why won’t you fuck me?”

“Anakin, get up.”

 _“No.”_ He pressed his face in, mouthing at Obi-Wan’s cock the best he could through his pants. “Why won’t you answer me? I answer all your stupid questions.” He gripped Obi-Wan’s thigh harder, digging in with his fingers. 

“Why won’t you fuck me? Are you dating someone? Married? Is it—” He choked on the words. “Is it the arm? Is it because I fucking broke into your house and I’m literally fucking _nothing—”_

“Anakin, please. _Calm down.”_

There was a hand on his shoulder, a thumb rubbing gentle circles into the hollow of his collarbone. “Take a deep breath for me, alright? Can you do that for me?”

Another sob racked his body and made his stomach twist uncomfortably. His head was pounding, heartbeat loud and pulsing in his ears.

He felt really sick. _Really_ sick.

“You don’t make any sense!” Obi-Wan’s pants were getting damp as he rubbed his face in harder and more tears leaked out. “Just fuck me and get it over with. You already paid for it, just take it.”

That hand left his shoulder and he wanted to beg for it back.

“I promise I’ll be good. You can do whatever you want. I’ll be so good for you. Let me—” He rubbed his face in, breathing hard. “Let me suck you off. I’m really good at it, I promise it’ll be good, just let me—” 

He yanked on Obi-Wan’s belt, clawing madly at the buckle to get it undone. It took all his concentration and effort but he managed to pull the belt apart.

A firm hand caught his fingers and stopped him from working the zipper down. “Anakin, please get up for me. Now.”

Obi-Wan helped him when he started to lose his balance during his own attempt to get upright. Hands held his arms just below the shoulder— both, both arms—

He collapsed into Obi-Wan. Arms came up around him and Anakin gasped around another sob as he buried his face into Obi-Wan's neck. He couldn’t smell anything right now but he knew that Obi-Wan’s skin felt warm under his nose and he didn’t deserve to have his arms wrapped around him, his hands rubbing his back.

“I’m sorry,” he blubbered, “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Obi-Wan leaned back and made Anakin look at him. “Apologies can wait until the morning.” A thumb came up to wipe at his wet cheeks and Anakin shied away from it. “Come on, dear. Let’s get you to bed.”

Anakin stepped back and scrubbed at his face. “No. You don’t want me in your bed. You made that really, really clear.”

“Yes, but I think getting some sleep is a good idea for you right now.”

An arm around his waist kept him steady as they ascended the stairs.

His only warning was a horrible lurching sensation in his stomach. It gave him enough time to make it to the bathroom just in time to vomit into the toilet.

His retching had turned to sobs by the time Obi-Wan appeared beside him, pressing a glass to his lips. The water was blissfully cool going down his throat but it only marginally helped with the acrid taste in his mouth.

A hand had returned to his hair, unsticking damp strands from his forehead. He couldn’t bear to look at Obi-Wan, already knowing his brow would be creased in disappointment. “Oh, Anakin. What am I going to do with you?”

Anakin’s throat burned as he laughed, bitter and hoarse. “Kick me out. Report me. Fuck me. Kill me, even. It’s up to you. I’m clearly not worth much else.”

Obi-Wan didn’t say anything, just let him take another few minutes to recover before helping him up and leading him to the bedroom, taking his jacket off along the way.

Obi-Wan’s bed was nice, especially when the sheets were pleasantly cool and pulled up around his chin. He curled up into a ball and rubbed his face on the pillow.

“I’m so tired.”

“I know you are. Try to get some sleep for me.”

Anakin’s eyes were already closed when he felt knuckles lightly brush over his cheek.

Obi-Wan left the room, leaving Anakin alone in the dark for the few seconds it took before he passed out.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which an embarrassing vodka-fueled night may actually lead to… Obi-Wan and Anakin finally communicating what they want and need from each other? Whoa. 
> 
> \+ Anakin learns what it means to give up control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took me far too long to get out, but here she is. Huge thank you to [septemberist](https://theseptemberist.tumblr.com/) for betaing this chapter. Without her support and advice this would've kept sitting in the drafts forever probably.
> 
> In other news: We're finally bumping up the rating next chapter.

_BZZZ. BZZZ. BZZZ._

What— oh fuck, his _head_ —

He flailed his arm around, scrambling to turn off his alarm— no, not his alarm, someone was calling him—

He found his phone in his jeans pocket. 

_Why was he wearing jeans in bed?_

“Uhhn.”

His mouth tasted disgusting. His tongue was a heavy, slimy lump that he could barely lift enough to speak. 

“Ani, are you okay?”

He finally cracked his eyes open against the light pouring into the sub-basement window of his—

Oh. Oh God. _Not_ his apartment.

“Shit.”

“Did you get home safe?”

“Yeah, yeah, I did,” he said distractedly. He flung the plush white covers aside and found himself in jeans and a t-shirt— his jeans and t-shirt. At least there were no vomit stains—

_Oh no. He threw up in Obi-Wan’s toilet._

“We were worried when you didn’t text us last night.”

“Yeah, sorry, I passed out as soon as I got home.” 

He could hear muffled sounds coming from downstairs. 

Obi-Wan was here.

“I’m glad you’re okay. We’re going to be at Sabé’s parents’ this weekend, but if you need anything—”

“No, I’m totally good. Have a great weekend, Padmé. Bye.”

He hung up and threw his head back onto the pillow, immediately regretting the sudden movement when the ceiling started spinning right before his eyes.

...the very soft pillow.

Obi-Wan’s pillow.

Because he was in Obi-Wan’s bedroom.

_Fuck._

He contemplated his chances of survival if he tried going out the window. If he still had two hands, he could probably scale down the brick without much difficulty. But as it were, he’d have to just drop down from the window sill.

Well, okay, it was only one story. He’d survive. What were a couple broken legs compared to having to face Obi-Wan after last night?

God, he was never drinking again.

He found his jacket neatly laid out on the dresser, the bottle of vodka missing from its pocket. Probably for the best. He tugged it on and took a deep breath, bracing himself before he left the bedroom.

As he reached the bottom of the stairs he spotted a flash of auburn hair over the back of the armchair. Slowly, he crept along the wall of the living room, praying that maybe Obi-Wan was asleep or something. 

But no, Obi-Wan had a cup of strong-smelling coffee steaming in his hands with an unopened newspaper on his lap.

“Good morning.” 

He froze. What could he even do? Make a run for it? Where were his stupid shoes… Fuck it, he didn’t need them—

“Come and sit down.” Obi-Wan finally looked at Anakin fully, and his face softened, unbelievably, into something… not quite _warm,_ but not cold, either. “If you’d like. The coffee on the table is for you.”

Inexplicably, he found himself walking to the sofa and sitting down, his back straight as a board.

“Espresso machine’s working beautifully. I really do appreciate you fixing it for me.”

“Yeah I—” His voice cracked horribly so he cleared his throat. “I mean, stuff like that isn’t hard for me to figure out.” _For fuck’s sake, what a dumb thing to say._

He picked up the cup and nearly downed all of the bitter coffee in one go. Absolutely no milk or creamer to help it go down. Exactly how Anakin liked it.

Obi-Wan took a sip from his own cup.

“You’re drinking espresso?”

He hummed as he brought the cup back down to his lap. “Yes, I needed something a bit stronger than tea this morning. I did have a rather eventful night.”

Fresh humiliation burned his cheeks. He wished a hole would open in the floor and swallow him up.

“I, uh…” God, what could he even say? “I’m sorry you had to sleep on the sofa.”

“No, it’s alright. It’s good for me to forgo the luxury of my bed every once in a while.” Obi-Wan tilted his head to either side, stretching his neck. Anakin winced at the faint sound of bones cracking. “Reminds me that I need to get back into vinyasa.”

_Vinyasa?_

Anakin didn’t know what to say to that, or to anything right now, so he gave his mouth something to do. He drank much more slowly this time, savoring the strong flavor. Silently pleading with it to make him feel slightly less like he’d been run over by a truck.

“Well...” 

Anakin dared a glance at Obi-Wan, whose gaze was trained on the contents of his own cup, who was dressed in... dressed in his clothes from the night before. Except for a far-too-familiar belt, which was coiled on the side table.

Obi-Wan looked up at him slowly. His eyes were weary and underscored by dark circles, but his lips curled up unmistakably in a smile. “I think we’ve gotten ourselves into a bit of a mess.”

The way Obi-Wan said it, so casually, with a hint of amusement shining in his tired eyes, punched an involuntary laugh out of him.

A little bit of that sticky lump of shame clogging his lungs managed to loosen up, making it just a little easier to breathe.

He sank back into the sofa cushions and _giggled_. “Yeah. We really fucking did.”

Obi-Wan let out a little snort before bringing his cup back to his lips.

He couldn’t help the words from tumbling out. Everything about this was already so embarrassing anyway, he might as well make it worse. “Did you realize that before or after the vomiting?”

Obi-Wan gave him a full-blown grin then, showing his teeth, something genuinely playful about it, like they’d just had a fun night out together. Something so different than the usual soft smiles and teasing smirks.

His breath caught in his throat. Oh, yeah. He really _was_ hot.

“I’d say I figured it out around the time of the vomiting, yes. Although the attempted fellatio before that may have also tipped me off.”

Anakin groaned. “Please don’t call it that. Or ever mention that again.”

Anxiety came creeping back in. _Why_ did he have to imply they’d ever see each other again? Obi-Wan was going to kick him out in about two seconds.

Of course, Obi-Wan seemed to notice his train of thought as soon as it’d begun, his grin sobering. “Anakin. We need to discuss what happened last night.”

“We really don’t. I promise, I won’t ever bother you again.”

“Let me say something first.”

Anakin stilled. He’d already been in motion to set the empty cup down, to get up from the sofa and go searching for his shoes. But he couldn’t do that now. He was glued to the sofa, unable to even stray his focus from Obi-Wan’s face. “Okay.”

Obi-Wan’s expression was aggressively unreadable. He didn’t speak for a long moment, giving Anakin plenty of time to freak out. Anticipation was going to kill him long before the throbbing headache ever could.

Obi-Wan finally moved, casting the newspaper and cup aside. He folded his hands in his lap. “I’m sorry.”

He blinked. 

“For what?”

“For a number of things,” Obi-Wan said, softly but controlled. Prepared. “I’m sorry for going cold on you the past few days. I wanted to distance myself from…” he gestured between them, “this, as a way to clear my head when things were getting too... fuzzy. But I realize now that my avoidance wasn’t fair to you, and I’m sorry for that.”

Anakin couldn’t believe Obi-Wan was apologizing to _him_ right now. “No, I’m the one who needs to be sorry. Honestly, I’ve been a total creep and you should probably call the cops if you haven't already.”

Obi-Wan’s brow creased. “I told you I wouldn’t do that. And I intend to keep that promise.”

But a small voice in the back of his head told him he _really_ deserved to go to jail.

He thought he’d have something to say, some comeback, some excuse, but he just felt really, really hollow. He slumped his shoulders, wanting so bad to curl up in his bed and stay there from now until forever. “I’m sorry. I’ve been really shitty to you, and I’m kind of a giant mess, and I’m sorry you had to get involved in my mess. Well, you didn’t get involved, I kind of forced you to, when I broke in. A lot. Um.”

Anakin drew in a shaky breath. God, his hand was shaking too, his stomach unsettled, gnawing. He drank so much last night and he hadn’t even been smart enough to eat dinner. 

“Anakin.”

He looked up from his lap.

Now he could recognize concern etched into the knit of Obi-Wan’s brow. “I think a change of scenery would be nice for us. Would you like to go to a cafe? To get more coffee and maybe some food, as well?”

Never had any words sounded more beautiful in Obi-Wan’s ridiculous accent. _“Yes._ I wasn’t going to say anything but I’m really hungover and I’m so hungry I could cry.”

Obi-Wan stood with his empty cup in hand, gesturing for Anakin to give him his as well. “Great. There’s one just a couple blocks from here. While I get dressed, there’s an unopened toothbrush next to the sink if you’d like to wash out your mouth.”

“Oh thank God.” Anakin handed him his cup and practically ran up the stairs, beyond ready to get rid of the nasty taste of morning and... other stuff.

Outside was pleasant, if a little warm for early October. As they walked down the tree-lined sidewalk, they passed a few trees whose leaves were starting to change color, greens bleeding into reds and oranges and yellows.

As nice as the weather was, the walking made him even more painfully aware that he was hungover as shit.

“I feel disgusting.”

Obi-Wan turned to appraise him. He’d changed into yet another beige sweater. Even with the dark circles and his hair not as perfectly coiffed as usual, he looked frustratingly put-together. 

Anakin was struck by the realization this was the first time they were outside together. In public.

Even wearing the nice jacket Obi-Wan had given him, Anakin still felt painfully out of place walking next to him.

“You do look a little rough.”

His shoulders slumped.

“Morning afters are typically like that,” Obi-Wan added, his tone light and lilting. “And considering the night you had, you could certainly look worse.”

“Wow, thanks.”

Obi-Wan glanced over again. “The jacket does look very nice on you. Emphasizes the breadth of your shoulders.” 

Anakin found himself automatically rolling his shoulders back, standing a little straighter.

Apartments with fancy, useless little terraces occupied the floors above the cafe. A glorified coffee shop, really. It was pretty small and pointlessly over-decorated, but Anakin had to admit it had a nice, cozy atmosphere. And he liked that it wasn’t very busy, either, just a few people scattered about in armchairs near the fireplace or at the two-person tables that lined the windows.

Anakin trailed behind Obi-Wan as he walked up to the register.

“Your usual?” asked the cashier.

“Yes, and add a slice of lemon cake, please. For here.”

The cashier pressed some buttons and looked back up. 

Obi-Wan turned to him expectantly. “Anakin, what would you like?”

He blinked in surprise. He’d already taken stock of the four one-dollar bills left in his pocket and scanned the menu to check to make sure that’d be enough for black coffee and his bus fare home.

And, a different, very small and stupid part of him, had maybe expected Obi-Wan to just… order for him. “Uh.” 

“Maybe coffee and something to eat?” Obi-Wan suggested.

“Um. Yeah.”

He watched dumbly while Obi-Wan ordered something for him and swiped his card. 

They found an open table in the far corner, morning light filtering in through the trees outside. 

Anakin stared down at the greasiest bacon and egg sandwich he’d ever seen in his life. It wasn’t at all what he expected to end up on his plate, but he wasn’t complaining. 

He couldn’t hold back a groan as he took his first bite. It was just so _greasy_ and _good._

“This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted in my life,” he managed around a mouthful.

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at him. His eyes darted down to his mouth and back up. 

Anakin swallowed quickly.

“You must be very hungover.”

“No, I’m serious! If I had the money I’d come here every single day just to get this.”

Obi-Wan’s face twisted into an uncomfortable frown.

It took a minute for Anakin to realize what he’d said. Shit. Of course he’d brought money into this again. 

“So um,” he blurted, “you’re a regular here?”

Obi-Wan nodded slowly. “Yes, I suppose you could say that. I’m not expected in my office on Fridays so I usually come here. It’s a good place to write and grade papers without… distractions.”

“Oh, that’s good.” Anakin stuffed his face with another bite so he couldn’t put his foot in his mouth again. He really should’ve run out as soon as he’d found his shoes in the foyer, but the promise of food had been too tempting. And dammit if it wasn’t _delicious._

He’d nearly finished the sandwich and drained his coffee by the time Obi-Wan spoke into the silence.

“I don’t know if we can continue this mentorship the way it’s been going.”

The words felt like an anvil dropped on his already pounding head.

He wanted to argue, he really did. But Obi-Wan was right, of course. “I don’t think we can either.”

Obi-Wan smiled sadly. “I’m glad we’re on the same page, then.”

Neither of them spoke again for a while. Anakin could sense that Obi-Wan was preparing to say something else, so he bit his tongue against any pathetic begging that might slip out.

“Anakin, I’d like us to try being honest with each other.”

He exhaled shakily. “Okay.” 

“I think, at this point, it’s what we owe to each other.” Obi-Wan’s lips twitched up, almost imperceptibly, before his expression sobered again. “I’ll start.” 

Anakin held his breath.

“I am very attracted to you, to the point where I’ve come to very much doubt that I can keep a relationship with you that is strictly professional.”

Air stayed caught in his throat.

The wheels of his sluggish mind struggled to spin. Obi-Wan wasn’t… After last night… Obi-Wan couldn’t _mean_ that. His eyes narrowed. “Are you making fun of me right now? Because you know I want to have sex with you?”

“I’m not making fun of you,” Obi-Wan said swiftly. “I _have_ gathered that you’re interested in sex, yes. I just haven’t known if you’re truly interested or if you’ve felt that you have to be interested out of obligation.”

Okay. Okay. 

Obi-Wan was attracted to him. Allegedly. Possibly. Why hadn’t he _done_ anything about it then? 

“I was—am—interested. But… okay, I’ve never gotten money from someone like this. It’s weird, okay? I don’t get it. I thought you had to want sex for this to make sense. And then you asked about if I’d ever had a Dom, which—”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan cut in. “I know. I rather shouldn’t have. I let my curiosity get the best of me.”

“Curiosity?” Anakin scrunched up his nose. “Just say dick.”

Obi-Wan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “The point is, I do not see our relationship, as it currently exists, continuing. I’m finding it too difficult to maintain appropriate boundaries.”

Oh. 

“So… the whole, mentorship thing… is over.” He tried to sound casual but it came out sulky. 

He knew this would happen. He’d been waiting for it. It was fine, really. He had like three weeks to figure out rent for the next month, that was plenty of time...

“Yes, I believe it has to be. However…”

He whipped his head up. “Yeah?”

Obi-Wan deliberated for a moment, both hands tightly wrapped a cup of what Anakin assumed was tea. “I’ve grown rather... invested in you and your well-being. It is very hard for me to walk away from you, knowing I could help. But I will, if that is what you want.” Obi-Wan let out a little huff that could’ve been a laugh. “Well, I guess it’s up to you to walk away from me.”

Tiny wings of hope fluttered in his chest. “I don’t want to walk away from you.”

“Then what do you want, Anakin?”

Obi-Wan had asked him that before, always in the same, earnest tone, and this time was no different. He hadn’t known what to say then, either. _What do you want? What do you want from me, Anakin?_

Suddenly, he knew what to say.

Anakin locked eyes with him. “What do _you_ want?”

Obi-Wan’s lips parted. He seemed, almost, taken aback by the question, physically leaning back in his chair a bit. 

Anakin felt a rush of adrenaline. Yes, yes, this was the right thing to say. This was _good._ He almost felt giddy. “Yeah, what do you want from _me,_ Obi-Wan? We haven’t really talked about that. And don’t you dare bring up the savior thing. What do _you_ want?”

After a few static seconds with that question hanging in the air, Obi-Wan’s lips fell closed.

“I want to dominate you, Anakin.”

A shiver shot down his spine. He hadn’t… expected that.

“You mean, like a sex thing.”

“Please keep your voice down. But yes.” Obi-Wan watched his mouth as he sucked in his lower lip, and for the first time since he’d met Obi-Wan, Anakin felt like he might be, a little bit, in control right now. “And, perhaps, in other ways. I…” His voice went very soft. “I want to take care of you. Very much so.” 

His mind reeled, finally kicking into gear. A memory flashed. “Wait, that colleague of yours. Quin, I think. Did you two bone? Like, the way you’re talking about?”

Obi-Wan sighed again, looking for all the world like he regretted his entire life leading up to this moment. “Not… exactly like the way I’m talking about. But yes, we’ve had sex before.”

“Was it— were you like… his Dom?”

“Sometimes, yes.”

Anakin chewed on his lip a little more. “Are you still his Dom?”

“No. Haven’t been for years.”

“Okay. Well, I want that, too. I want to try that with you.”

“Do you?” Obi-Wan took a sip before setting the cup down and pushing it away. Drawing out the silence. “I don’t think you really know what _that_ means.”

“Well you could teach me. I want to learn. I want to— I want to have sex with you. And you’re talking about sex.”

“I’m not just talking about sex, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said quietly. “I’m talking about domination and submission scenes, acted out between two willing and informed partners.”

Okay, so definitely not… dating. Honestly, it was still a little fuzzy to him what Obi-Wan was talking about.

But he did want sex with Obi-Wan. He wanted to _stay,_ he realized, whatever that meant.

“And I’m telling you I want that.”

Obi-Wan ran a hand through his hair, pulling a few strands loose. “As much as I’d like to, I don’t think I could begin a relationship of that nature with you knowing that you’re, one, inexperienced, and two, in a rather vulnerable place. Both financially and emotionally.” 

Anakin started to protest but the hard look Obi-Wan shot him forced his jaw shut. “I can’t ignore the reality of your situation. Not after last night.”

“You still don’t know my _situation._ You only think you do. _”_

Obi-Wan folded his arms across his chest and leaned back. “Well, that’s part of the problem, isn’t it? You haven’t exactly been forthright about things, Anakin Skywalker.”

Shit. Right, yeah, of course Obi-Wan had looked him up. He already knew that.

“Anakin, you have to understand my hesitation. Last night you were begging me to _take what I’d already paid for.”_

“I was shitfaced. And okay, I did think you might be giving me shit and buying me things just to fuck me. There were _so many_ expensive clothes in that suitcase. Like, even those t-shirts were super soft and I’m guessing you paid like thirty dollars each or something.”

Obi-Wan thinned his lips and didn’t say anything.

“But then you gave me a bunch of books to read with sticky notes with stuff like guiding questions on them and I didn’t know what to think.”

“Yes, the money complicated things. I couldn’t express my interest in you because I didn’t want you to feel like you had to perform sex work to earn my help. And that’s what I’m—I was—trying to do. Help you.”

“I don’t feel like that.”

Obi-Wan raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

“...anymore.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “I can’t start a sexual relationship with you if you still believe I’m only giving you things in exchange for sex. That’s unfair to you, and frankly that’s unfair to me. But I’m going to want to keep helping you financially.” 

“People in normal relationships give each other things.” Anakin pointed out. “They do it just because they want to, not because they’ll get sex out of it.”

“I do enjoy giving you things,” Obi-Wan conceded. His face grew so sincere and almost fond that Anakin struggled not to duck his head and look away. “I enjoy _you,_ Anakin. You’re a menace, certainly, but these past two weeks have been the most interesting I’ve had in a long while.” Now Obi-Wan looked almost… embarrassed, a hint of pink dusting his cheeks. “It’s been refreshing, in some ways.”

And how was he going to admit that breaking into Obi-Wan’s house and trying to rattle him enough to get him to fuck him—or kick him out—had finally given him a reason to get out of bed in the morning? 

“This could still be my long con to try to steal more of your shit. That embarrassing drunk breakdown could’ve been part of my strategy.”

Obi-Wan smiled widely, and Anakin realized all at once that he’d already shared way too much of himself with this man. “It’s good to know you’ve enjoyed my company as well. Despite the unfair way I’ve treated you.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes flickered over Anakin’s shoulder for a moment, something pinched about his face, but before Anakin could turn around to see what had him so upset, Obi-Wan was focused on him again. “Anakin, if we were to pursue something here, I would like a partner who is as invested in the relationship as I am.”

“Yes. I want to try again with you.” Anakin finally had to duck his head, peering down into his empty cup with his heart thumping in his chest. “I know I haven’t made a good impression, but I do… like you. And I’m interested in sex, with you. And I’m not… seeing anyone else, if that matters.”

“I’m not looking for exclusivity, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said softly. “You can date as you please. I just…” He paused for a long moment. “I need to know that you truly want this type of relationship. At least, that you’re willing to try it out.”

“I do. I’m telling you I want this.” 

“Do you? You’d have to be sure. And if we do this, I’d need you to agree to let me set the pace. Only in an attempt to keep us both safe.”

He smirked, feeling the rush of victory coursing through his veins. _If we do this._

“Sure, you can set the pace. But _you’re_ going to have to accept that I’m going to keep trying to push your buttons.”

Obi-Wan smiled back, all teeth. “And you’re going to have to accept that I’m going to keep trying to teach you some _respect_ and _patience.”_

“Oh, I’m super down for more _lessons._ Just please don’t make me read out loud again, that was actual torture.”

Obi-Wan softened his smile. “You did wonderfully, Anakin. I’m proud of you for stepping out of your comfort zone for me.”

His cheeks flamed. Okay, maybe he could be persuaded into reading out loud again. He looked around and found the cake to focus on instead of Obi-Wan’s overwhelming face. 

Obi-Wan held out his fork to him. “Try it. I’ve found it’s a good hangover cure.”

Anakin didn’t have to be told twice.

Anakin grabbed the fork from him and cut himself a bite, popping it in his mouth.

“Oh my God.”

“Good?”

“I wanna marry it. And I don’t even like lemon.”

Obi-Wan gave a light laugh and held out his hand for the fork. They traded off like that until the cake was nothing but crumbs.

They left the cafe with the air a bit more settled between them. Anakin still knew his connection to Obi-Wan was a thin, fragile string, and he knew that Obi-Wan could still cut that string easily, but now he had hope that, maybe, he wouldn’t.

At least, not yet.

“I definitely thought you were an old man. Like sixty plus. A senior citizen.”

Obi-Wan scoffed. “Sixty is not old. Why did you even think that?”

“You have _shortbread.”_

Obi-Wan made a mock-offended noise. “Shortbread is lovely with evening tea.”

Anakin groaned. “Oh my God. You are an old man.”

“I really don’t think the person eating _corn syrup gelatin_ for dessert has any room to judge my tastes.” And there it was again, that playful, almost mischievous smile. Bright and open. 

“Hey! Don’t diss the fruit snacks. Those are really good.”

Obi-Wan stopped walking. Anakin hadn’t even realized they were at the bus stop that would take him home.

He flexed and clenched his hand. Did he… do something? They weren’t dating, but they were… something, now. Something more. His head started to pound anew trying to decide what to do.

Obi-Wan figured it out for him. He found Anakin’s hand where it twitched at his side and interlaced their fingers. He squeezed once, gently, before letting it go again and taking a half-step back. “We can talk more about this once we’re both feeling ready. For now I suggest you get some rest. I certainly intend to.”

A part of him wanted to ask to join him. Obi-Wan’s house sounded a lot more inviting right now than his own place. 

Obi-Wan’s bed, in particular, sounded a lot more inviting.

Anakin forced himself to take a deep breath. He could do this. They were starting over. Obi-Wan _wanted_ him. 

He flashed a wink. “Don’t miss me too much if you wake up and I’m not there.”

Obi-Wan’s lips twitched. “I won’t fret too much. There’s no doubt in my mind that I’ll be seeing you again soon.”

A hand came up to his face then, just a light touch, fingers curling around his neck. A thumb lightly brushing over his scarred cheek. Anakin closed his eyes and leaned into it, overwhelmed again.

Obi-Wan still wanted to touch him. Would still want to see him again. Wanted _more_ with him.

Anakin opened his eyes when the warmth of Obi-Wan’s palm disappeared from his skin. 

A soft smile greeted him. “Now get some sleep.”

Anakin swallowed, nodding. As Obi-Wan disappeared down the street, he couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, he was still in over his head. 

But at least, this time, it was a sex thing.

* * *

He decided to actually listen to Obi-Wan, for once, and used the rest of the weekend to sleep. It took until waking up at noon on Monday to feel like a real person again. He actually felt surprisingly good when he woke up, strangely energized as he showered and pulled on a clean pair of jeans and the bomber. He even went around the block to buy groceries.

He smiled at the manager on his way out, and got a weird look for it, but found he didn’t care.

Padmé texted him around three, out of class for the day. He sent back that he was doing fine, _also sorry about ruining ur friday night i shouldn’t have gone out._

_Don’t worry about it!! I’m just glad you’re feeling better._

Come evening, he texted Obi-Wan a couple hours before to let him know he’d be over. He got a quick _See you soon_ in response.

“Thanks!” he called over his shoulder as he walked off the bus, giving a little salute.

Instead of turning left down Irving Street, he went right.

One employee was mopping the floor, the other—the cashier he recognized from Saturday—cleaning out one of the machines. They were definitely about to close up for the night, and Anakin should really just turn right back around, but then the cashier spotted him.

“What can I do for you?”

“Um. I was just wondering.” He rubbed the itch on the back of his neck. “Are you hiring at all?”

The cashier smiled. “Yeah, I think we’re hiring for part-time right now. We’ve got a link to the application on our website.”

“Okay, cool. Sounds great. Thanks.”

He thought, maybe, he should ask if Obi-Wan had a computer.

He didn’t have to wait long for the door to open after he’d walked up the steps. Obi-Wan smiled at him, something small but _there,_ and Anakin smiled back.

“You actually used the doorbell, like I asked you to.”

He pouted. “Hey, I can follow directions.”

“Hmm. That remains to be seen.”

Anakin kicked off his shoes on his way to the kitchen where he secured a seat on his usual barstool. Whatever Obi-Wan was making for dinner smelled _amazing._

“Noticed you got a new lock.”

“I did.” Obi-Wan had gone back to stirring something on the stovetop. He wasn’t wearing a sweater tonight. He had on a dark red button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the hem tucked into dark slacks.

Anakin stared openly while Obi-Wan’s focus was preoccupied. “Why? You know I’m probably going to bust this one up too.”

“No, you’re not.”

Obi-Wan abandoned the stovetop to open one of the drawers set into the other side of the island. He slid something across the counter toward him.

Anakin gawked at it. “Is this…?”

“I’d rather you have a key than keep ruining my lock,” Obi-Wan said plainly. “Eventually the door wouldn’t have even closed properly and I’d have just _anyone_ able to break in. And we wouldn’t want that, would we?” His eyes were glittering even in the low light.

Anakin snatched up the key before Obi-Wan could change his mind. He inspected it in his hand, turning the shiny new brass over. “No, that’d definitely be bad. You’re really giving me a key?”

“I’d still like a text before you just walk right in, but… yes, Anakin.” Obi-Wan’s voice went soft. “I’m giving you a key.”

Anakin looked up, but Obi-Wan had already returned to the stove. He pocketed the key in the front of his jeans. More secure than his jacket pocket, as he’d learned on Friday night.

Dinner appeared to be fresh bread and some kind of a thick soup.

“Dal,” Obi-Wan offered in explanation as he pulled out a barstool. “It’s a lentil curry.”

As it turned out, dal was really good.

“I was wondering,” Anakin said between mouthfuls, “did you find a half pint of vodka in my jacket? On… Friday.”

Obi-Wan looked at him over the rim of his glass. “No, I didn’t. Although, that does provide some more insight into what happened that night.”

“Yeah.” He busied himself with memorizing every detail of the bread basket. “Uh, I’m sorry, again. Like, I know we moved on from that, clean slate and all, but… yeah.”

“Clean slate or not, you’ve already apologized, and I’ve forgiven you. I just hope that doesn’t happen again, for your sake.”

“Yeah, same. I mean, I usually don’t do stuff like that. For the record.” 

Obi-Wan took a pull from his drink and then gave a soft, airy laugh. 

He liked the sound. Obi-Wan laughed like that—restrained, but genuine. It managed to ease the tension in his shoulders after bringing up Friday. 

“I think I may have asked you some of the wrong questions earlier.”

He blinked. “Huh?”

“What do you like to do, Anakin?”

“Like, for fun?”

“Yes. For fun.”

“Oh. Well, I really do like fixing things. I think I’m pretty good with my h-hand. And my mouth, but that’s another thing.” 

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. 

Anakin stuck his tongue out in turn. “You know I’m going to keep making jokes.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I have to find them funny.”

He made a face, and took another bite as he thought more about the question. “I like cars a lot. I used to make a lot of money from street racing.”

“Street racing?” Obi-Wan scoffed, shaking his head. “Alright. That explains a lot.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“No need to get defensive. I just mean, you seem to enjoy chasing thrills. You like risk. That’s a dangerous hobby to have.”

Anakin frowned, all of a sudden wishing he hadn’t brought it up at all. “Yeah, well. Haven’t exactly done that in a while anyway.”

Obi-Wan hummed but didn’t say anything else about it.

“I didn’t ask what you like to do either.”

For the second time in recent memory, Obi-Wan looked a bit taken aback. “Ah, well, teaching is more than a full-time job. That and my research keeps me quite busy.”

Anakin sighed. “I mean other than your job. Obviously.”

“Well. I like to read, of course.”

“Ugh. That’s almost as bad as saying teaching! You’ve gotta have other interests. Other stuff you do in your free time.”

“Certainly. For example, right now I’m interested in you.”

Anakin almost choked on his bread.

Obi-Wan laughed, his eyes sparkling with mirth, but at least he was merciful. “You asked me about deontological and utilitarian theories and how they coexist. Would you like me to explain?”

Anakin followed along the best he could. Obi-Wan prattling on meant he had time to scoop up seconds.

When Obi-Wan stood up with their empty bowls in hand, Anakin jumped up as well.

“Can I help?”

“With the dishes?”

“Yeah. Maybe I can dry?”

Obi-Wan smiled softly. “Sure. You know where to find the dish towels.”

He’d been nervous, to do dishes in front of Obi-Wan, but Obi-Wan didn’t pay his hand any mind. He didn’t have any trouble rambling about Bentham’s great happiness theory or whatever while they washed.

They were just about done when suddenly Obi-Wan was closer than he had been, his hands freshly dried off on a towel. Anakin held his breath as Obi-Wan pushed back the curl that had started falling into his eye. His hand stayed in his hair, fingers combing through to the ends.

Anakin stayed frozen to the spot.

“You have beautiful hair, Anakin. Do you always keep it long?”

“I—” He had no idea what to say. People didn’t say things about his hair. He didn’t think about his hair ever, not really. “Yeah, I’ve had it like this for a while, I guess.”

Obi-Wan hummed, still combing through. “It suits you.”

“Oh,” his voice cracked. He was squeezing the bowl too hard. “Thanks.”

Obi-Wan finally pulled his hand back and stepped away, moving to fold the towel over the oven rack. “You’re welcome to stay longer this evening. I, unfortunately, need to get through grading about twenty more papers tonight, and I like to do that at my desk where I can spread everything out. So, I’ll be up in my office.”

“Let me guess, I’m not allowed in.”

Obi-Wan patted his shoulder on his way out of the kitchen. “You’re learning.”

Anakin stifled a laugh as he put the last dish in the drying rack.

Obi-Wan didn’t even look up when Anakin crept in a few minutes later. “I hardly know why I bother.”

“Whoops.”

Anakin’s eyes were drawn to the black leather bench he’d been curious about the last time he’d been in Obi-Wan’s office. It didn’t really fit Obi-Wan’s old-man, snooty professor aesthetic. It looks modern, stark in the warm lighting and rich wood of his office. The bench, or couch, maybe, was thicker at one end, tapering down into a low curve, close to the ground. Around the entire base of the leather cushion were several metal rings—wide, thick circles that seemed to have no purpose other than some weird aesthetic vibe.

Anakin sprawled out on it and sighed. It wasn’t, like, the cushiest place to lay down in the world, definitely not better than the sofa downstairs, but it was nice. The only place to sit in here other than Obi-Wan’s chair, which…

He sighed again, louder this time.

Obi-Wan glanced up and actually _startled,_ his back going ram-rod straight in his chair. “Get off of that.”

Anakin splayed his legs out further, and propped himself up on his elbow to give Obi-Wan a lazy grin. “Why? There’s nowhere else to sit. You’re supposed to sit on it, right? Kind of a weird choice in office furniture if I’m being honest, you could’ve just gotten a normal couch.”

Obi-Wan pursed his lips as if debating what to say. “...it’s a chaise.”

“Oh. Fancy. Why does it have these loopy things, though?” Anakin reached down to tug on one of the silver rings.

Obi-Wan had a strained look on his face. “Please don’t...”

“Like, they don’t do anything. I mean, unless you were going to tie something to—”

Realization hit him like a brick.

_“Is this a sex chair?”_

“...Anakin—”

“You have a sex chair! In your office!” His eyes widened as a horrible thought struck him. “Is it— clean?”

“Yes, of course it’s clean,” Obi-Wan said sharply, looking offended that he’d even asked. “I take very good care of my things.”

“Okay, but why do you have a sex chair in your office?!”

Obi-Wan sighed, looking just about ready to walk out the door and leave Anakin alone on the _sex chair._ “This is my private office. I don’t normally have anyone else in here unless I’m _using_ the... chaise. Hence why I asked you to stay downstairs.”

Something hot flared in his chest. Using the chaise. How often did Obi-Wan use it? With who? “Okay, but why isn’t it in your bedroom? That would make a lot more sense.”

“I typically keep scenes separate from my bedroom.”

“...what?”

Obi-Wan studied him for a long, heart-thumping moment. “Do you know what a scene is, Anakin?”

He shifted to sit up higher on the chaise, leaning back against the curve. Something had shifted in Obi-Wan’s tone, and he found it liked it a lot. His voice was lower, even more controlled. “It’s like handcuffing someone.”

“It could be.” Obi-Wan stood up and circled his desk, coming around to the front to lean back against the edge of the polished wood. “In simple terms… a scene typically consists of a willing and informed partner gives up control to another willing and informed partner for mutual sexual gratification. I’m assuming you’ve never done a scene before?”

“...not, like, formally.” He cringed as he said it.

But Obi-Wan accepted it with a nod. “That’s what I assumed. It’s something we’ll have to work up to, then. The last thing we need to do is dive headfirst into a scene you’re not prepared for.”

“But I want to!” Anakin insisted. “I know you’re still worried I just think this is sex work but I swear I actually want to have sex with you.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ve figured that out.” Obi-Wan gave him a very amused look, roving his gaze down the length of his reclined body, and Anakin felt blood rush down from the look alone. “I’m still not going to throw you into a heavy scene. We can warm up to that, see if it’s something you’re truly interested in first.”

Anakin considered that for a moment. “So you’re really not into vanilla sex? You only do scenes?”

“Not... necessarily,” Obi-Wan said slowly, hesitantly. “But the give and take of control is an important aspect of sex to me.”

Huh. Anakin hadn’t ever really thought about sex that way, but he guess it made sense.

“I’d like to get an idea of what you’re interested in.”

When Anakin didn’t say anything, Obi-Wan continued. “If we’re going to have sex I need to know your history. I’m not looking for personal details, I’m just trying to gauge where you’re at in terms of preferences and experience.”

“I’ve... only had sex with one person. ...my ex-girlfriend. Okay, I sucked a dick once but it was a really messy night and I don’t totally remember it.”

“Have you ever experimented with power dynamics during sex?”

 _Power dynamics._ What. “I don’t now. I mean... I liked when my ex kinda decided what we’d do. And I liked when she... um, when she pegged me. We only did that a couple times, a long time ago but… I dunno. I liked that I didn’t have to decide what to do the whole time.”

“You like giving up control.”

Anakin bit his lip. He really wanted to be honest with Obi-Wan, but he wasn’t sure he actually knew what he liked. He hadn’t even had _regular_ sex in a while. “Yes. And also no. It’s weird.”

“That’s understandable. You need to trust who you’re giving your control to.” Obi-Wan pushed off from his desk and began to stride across the room to one of the bookcases, where the safe Anakin hadn’t been able to crack sat on a waist-height shelf. 

“I think, to start, it would be good to use the stoplight method, whether or not we’re in a scene. You can always simply ask me to stop, but it’s a better system to use for me to truly understand what you need.”

“That’s like... green is good, red is bad?”

“Correct. Red means to stop immediately. And yellow would mean slow down or ‘I’m not sure I like this.’” Obi-Wan smoothed a hand over the top of the safe and met his curious gaze. “Would you like to test the system out?”

His heart skipped. “Now? I thought you said no scenes.”

Obi-Wan smiled. “I didn’t say that. I said I’d like to take this slow.”

Oh. 

His heart began to race. Stupidly, he began to feel a little nervous about this. He hadn’t expected Obi-Wan to initiate anything so quickly, but...

“Yes. I want to try, um, whatever it is we’re doing.”

Tinny beeps emitted from the safe while Obi-Wan typed in the passcode, the door swinging out in a way that prevented Anakin from seeing anything inside. “You can change your mind whenever you’d like. It won’t mean that we can’t try again another time.”

“Okay.”

Anakin swallowed hard when he finally saw what Obi-Wan had taken from the safe. It was… rope. Black rope, what looked like more than one strand, wrapped neatly around Obi-Wan’s hand. 

Obi-Wan approached him, his socked feet silent on the wood floor, and Anakin felt rooted to the spot, zeroed in on the rope. 

“I am going to restrain your limbs by tying this rope to those rings you discovered,” Obi-Wan said, slowly and clearly as if giving Anakin instructions for defusing a bomb. “You’ll be able to move a little, enough to mitigate any cramping or numbness that might occur. But you won’t be able to get up until I untie the ropes, which I will do immediately if you ask me to. How does that sound to you?”

His cock had been steadily filling, twitching to life in his boxers while listening to the soft timbre. “Yes, good. That sounds good.”

“Wonderful. Now, I have one request before I restrain you.”

“Yeah, anything.”

“I need you to take off your jacket.”

His jaw went slack. “What? Why can’t I—”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan cut him off. “What’s your color right now?”

“My…” He gulped. Okay, yeah, they were doing this. They were _doing this._ “It’s green.”

“Very good, Anakin. Thank you. Jacket off, please.”

He sat up so he could shrug the bomber off his shoulders. He made to drop it to the floor but Obi-Wan held out a hand for it, taking it over to his desk to hang it on the back of his chair.

Anakin eased back down onto the chaise, trying to get as comfortable as possible when his heart was beating a staccato rhythm and his fingers were starting to tremble. He let his arm rest at his side, hand limp and hanging off the edge of the cushion. He splayed his legs out similarly with his feet near the end of the chaise. 

“Very good,” said Obi-Wan as he returned. His eyes flitted briefly to the stump, but just as quickly he was looking him in the eye again. “Stay still for me.”

Obi-Wan bent down next to him and pushed up his rolled sleeves a little more. Anakin had the wild, fleeting thought that he had the same focused look of someone at the shop about to get to work under the hood of a car.

He sucked in a breath when warm, gentle fingers took hold of his wrist, positioning his hand to lay upturned on the cushion instead of hanging off of it. 

Then Obi-Wan unwound the rope from around his hand, removing a strand and bringing it down to one of the silver rings.

Anakin couldn’t look away. He watched as Obi-Wan’s forearms flexed with every small movement, the tendons in his hands and wrists straining up against the skin as he worked the rope, tightening it into thick knots around the ring. Anakin couldn’t even begin to guess at how to replicate them, all he knew was they looked secure and strangely artful. Precise.

As soon as Obi-Wan brought the rope up to his wrist he began to panic, his chest seizing up. 

A soft, placating hum stopped him from jerking his hand away.

Anakin squeezed his eyes shut and tried to breathe.

He could do this. It was just a little bit of rope.

He opened his eyes. Obi-Wan had paused with the rope in hand, watching him patiently. “Sorry about that. I’m good.”

“Nothing to apologize for.”

The rope was soft and almost silky, sliding pleasantly against his skin as Obi-Wan guided it underneath his wrist. He found himself relaxing into it, keeping still and allowing Obi-Wan to tighten the rope around his wrist. Not tight enough to hurt, but tight enough that he was very aware of its presence, the knot thick and heavy on the sensitive underside of his wrist.

“How does that feel? Is it pinching at all?”

“No, it’s good.”

“What’s your color?”

“Um. Green.”

Obi-Wan nodded and moved down to his feet.

Anakin flicked his gaze to the ceiling. Because he couldn’t see anything, he was hyper-aware of every touch as Obi-Wan gently rolled up the legs of his jeans, as warm fingers brushed against his bare skin. 

It felt like it took ages for Obi-Wan to bind his ankles with the rope, but it was probably only a minute or two later that he stood up and stepped back to inspect his handiwork. 

“There. You shouldn’t be able to move more than a few inches.”

Anakin tried to lift his arm and legs off the chaise. The rope pulled taut, biting ever-so-slightly into his skin, preventing more than a few inches of movement. Just like Obi-Wan had said.

He forced himself to take a deep breath. It hit him all at once that he was stuck here, that he had willingly let Obi-Wan tie him up. Yeah, Obi-Wan said he’d untie him whenever he asked, but he didn’t know that he actually would. All he knew, for sure, was that right now he couldn’t move.

“You look lovely, Anakin.” A quiet voice pulled him from his thoughts. He turned to see Obi-Wan surveying the rope around his wrist. “I’d love to perform some more intricate rope work on you. But that’s for another day.”

More intricate? He was already as tied up as he could possibly be. He literally couldn’t move.

“Do you trust me, Anakin?” 

He laughed a little too loud. “I mean, I just let you tie me up. So yeah, I guess so.”

“No.” Shaking his head, Obi-Wan began to circle around the chaise. “I want you to really ask yourself that question, and think hard about your answer. Do you trust me in this moment? Do you trust me not to harm you while you’re restrained and vulnerable?”

His stupid arm was trembling, radiating all the way up into his chest. “...yes.”

“Why do you trust me?” Obi-Wan pressed.

It was so hard to think right now. His mind felt like it was a buzzing, staticky radio, and he couldn’t get his chest to stop vibrating. “Because… because you’ve done this stuff before. You know what you’re doing.”

“I could have been lying.”

“But you weren’t.”

“How do you know?”

Something tugged on his wrist. Anakin blinked his eyes open and peered down. Oh. He must’ve tried to move. He glanced up at Obi-Wan, who had stopped his circling.

“What’s your color?”

He thought about it harder this time. His stomach was doing little flip-flops, his pulse beating in his ears. 

Maybe he needed out.

Obi-Wan’s face grew more worried the longer he went without answering. Anakin could see the worry, breaking through his composure, even with his face shadowed against the dying sunlight leaking in through the window.

“Green.”

That did little to ease the tension in his face. “Do you think that I have good reason to trust you to honestly tell me your color?”

He blinked in confusion. “Yes. I am being honest.”

“Why should I believe that?”

Anakin chewed the inside of his cheek, racking his brain. “Because... because I really want this. And I know you’ll only let us do this if I’m honest.”

After a long moment, Obi-Wan gave him a small smile. “Thank you, Anakin. You’re doing well.”

He squirmed. His cock was not arranged correctly at all for this, the zipper of his jeans starting to press uncomfortably against his swelling erection.

“I’m going to grade my students’ papers. I’ll probably aim for an hour or so of progress before I call it a night. While I do that, you are going to lay there and be quiet. Does that sound doable?”

“Wait, hold up,” Anakin balked. “You’re just going to leave me here with nothing to do?”

Obi-Wan arched an eyebrow. “Is there a problem?”

He swallowed hard. _An hour?_ Shit. He patted himself on the back for deciding to relieve his bladder before coming up to Obi-Wan’s office. “No problem. I can do that.”

“Good. Remember that you can ask to be untied at any time.”

Obi-Wan returned to his desk, starting again on the essay he’d been looking at before Anakin had barged into his office. It seemed easy for him to do so, to ignore Anakin’s existence altogether.

Anakin knew he could ask to be untied. He knew he could ask to leave. And… he felt like he knew Obi-Wan would untie him. Obi-Wan would let him leave.

But he laid there.

He watched quietly, just like he was supposed to, while Obi-Wan scribbled in the margins of students’ papers, the lamp on his desk illuminating his face in soft yellow light. As the night wore on and the world outside the window grew pitch black, Obi-Wan stepped out of his office, returning a moment later with a pair of dark-framed glasses on his face.

Anakin vaguely recognized them, even though they looked a little different when he wasn’t blearily blinking up at Obi-Wan with his face pressed into his pants. They changed Obi-Wan’s face, made him look a bit older, even more stuffy and boring.

He liked them.

He liked watching Obi-Wan while he read in silence, a completely mundane, boring task. He had to crane his neck to see him but he did it anyway. Obi-Wan didn’t look up once, didn’t tell him to stop. He just allowed it, paid him no mind. Like Anakin wasn’t even there.

There was a strange thrill in knowing that, whether or not he liked this, he had to be here. He had no choice but to lay on the chaise, his limbs bound in place, doing absolutely nothing while Obi-Wan worked into the late evening.

After a while, he looked away from the desk, rolling his head back against the cushion with his eyes slipping closed. He was starting to feel a little sleepy. Floaty. The rope no longer felt like it was holding him captive. 

There wasn’t anywhere he wanted to go. There was nowhere else for him to be. Nothing else he had to do.

The buzzing radio static of his thoughts faded out. All he registered was the light pressure of the rope, the fullness in his stomach, the softness of the cushion, and the faint scratch of Obi-Wan’s pen on paper. 

Anakin had no idea how much time had passed when Obi-Wan’s voice startled him out of his reverie.

“Anakin.”

He opened his eyes to find Obi-Wan wasn’t at his desk anymore. He was right here, peering down at him.

“How are you feeling?”

Anakin shifted a bit, and realized his legs had started to fall asleep. Had he fallen asleep? “‘m good.”

“You did very well.” Obi-Wan said it with a little smile that made him feel warm and also made his cock twitch, rapidly plumping back up after flagging to half-hard. “You didn’t even bother me once.”

Anakin shrugged, pulling the rope taut in the process and hoping that would draw Obi-Wan’s attention away from the faint but definitely visible bulge to his jeans. “Yeah, I mean, you told me to be quiet so I was. I told you I can follow directions.”

“Yes, but you see my darling, you _don’t_ follow directions,” Obi-Wan said, amusement coloring his tone. “Certain pictures you took in my house come to mind.”

Heat flooded his cheeks. Oh, yeah.

“That’s why I’m rather impressed with you.”

His heart skipped a beat and then started thumping in overtime. He could feel it, a strange ache in his chest that made him want to rub it, but he couldn’t. “I literally didn’t do anything but lay here.”

“Which is exactly what I told you to do.” Obi-Wan hummed, considering. “Perhaps the key to keeping you out of trouble is keeping you tied up.”

Before Anakin could even react to that something skimmed over his knee, running up his thigh. 

His eyes snapped up. 

“Color?” Obi-Wan asked, studying him calmly.

“Green.”

Obi-Wan’s hand continued its path, only pausing briefly when he neared his hip. Anakin’s shirt had rucked up a bit, and Obi-Wan’s fingertips almost touched his skin—almost.

Anakin sucked in a breath and held it. There was no way Obi-Wan didn’t know about his erection, straining his underwear and pressing against the zipper, just inches from his hand.

But Obi-Wan didn’t say anything. His hand kept trailing up, centering over his stomach, where it stilled.

“You’re very tense right now.”

His mouth opened and shut but nothing came out. He tried to relax his stomach muscles, but it was hard with Obi-Wan’s palm right there, only resting lightly, but still, _right there._

Again he became very aware of the rope around his ankles and wrist. He didn’t have to tug at them to know they were keeping him in place. Fully restrained.

All he had were his words.

_You can ask to be untied at any time._

“Do you still trust me?”

Obi-Wan’s voice was a soft murmur, just as soft as the caress of his hand as it glided over the fabric of his t-shirt, all the way up to his chest. 

Resting over his pounding heart and constricted lungs.

“Tell me, Anakin. Do you trust me to take care of you when I have control over your body like this? Do you trust me not to do anything you don’t want?”

Obi-Wan sat down on the edge of the chaise now, not close enough to be touching, not unless Anakin shimmied himself closer. His gaze kept Anakin pinned, his head pressed back into the chaise while Obi-Wan trailed his hand up even further, agonizingly slow and light, so light it almost _tickled,_ until he reached his throat.

They stared, unmoving, while Obi-Wan covered his throat with his palm, the pad of his thumb and forefinger placed on either side of his neck just below his jaw.

Obi-Wan wasn’t pressing in at all, but it didn’t matter. He couldn’t breathe anyway, not with Obi-Wan’s sharp gaze on him, tracking between both of his eyes, down to his parted lips.

His voice was barely more than a whisper. “Will you still trust me when you’re fully bare to me? When you’re gagged so thoroughly you can’t even speak? When I’ve fitted a ring around your cock so you can’t come until I say you can come?”

A little whimper escaped his throat. Obi-Wan was leaning over him now, releasing his throat so he could hold his chin tight, forcing his attention, forcing him to look him in the eye.

Anakin knew what Obi-Wan would say before he even opened his mouth again. _“Do you trust me?”_

“Yes.” He felt a weight lift from his chest as soon as the word left his lips. He breathed in deeply, a big lungful of air filling in the place the weight had left. “I trust you.”

The tight grip disappeared from his chin, instead replaced with two hands cupping his face, thumbs sweeping over his cheeks.

Obi-Wan was smiling at him, something soft and maybe a little proud in the gentle curve of his lips. “Very good, Anakin. Thank you for trusting me. I’m going to untie the rope now. Is that alright?”

For a split second his mind supplied _no,_ but he nodded. He was ready to get back the feeling in his legs.

Obi-Wan undid all of the knots with practiced efficiency, winding the strands of rope around his hand as he went.

Anakin sat up and stretched. 

At the same time, Obi-Wan stood up. Anakin’s focus gravitated toward the cords of black rope wrapped all the way up around his forearm, rope that had him bound just seconds ago. “How are you feeling now?”

“Stiff.” Anakin paused mid-stretch. He hadn’t meant to draw attention to his still-hard cock. As much as he wanted Obi-Wan to do something about it, it was embarrassing how hard he was from doing nothing.

Obi-Wan only smiled. “You did incredibly well for your first scene.”

He frowned back. “That wasn’t a real scene, though.”

“Yes, it was. You gave up quite a bit of control to me.” Obi-Wan studied his face carefully. “How about you take some time to reflect, make sure you’re feeling alright before you head home. Take as much time as you need. I still have essays to get through.”

“Okay,” Anakin said, and laid back down.

He wasn’t sure how much longer he stayed on the chaise. Obi-Wan had told him to reflect but he didn’t really think about anything. His head still felt a little floaty but he was more present now, almost hyper-aware of his surroundings, simply observing them. 

His cock still throbbed, but it was almost a pleasant ache at this point. Still, a part of him wondered what Obi-Wan would do if he unzipped, taking himself in hand right here and now. It was a dumb thought, and probably a sign it was time to go.

“Do you need anything from me?” He could feel the smooth tones of Obi-Wan’s voice thrumming deep in his own chest as he stood and stretched.

“Nah, I’m good.”

“Good.” Obi-Wan came around his desk, holding out his jacket for Anakin to shrug on. “Text me when you get home, please.”

Something warm fluttered in his chest. Any joke he’d planned to make died in his throat. “I will.”

He already had a text waiting for him by the time he made it home.

_Please call me if you have any concerns about how this evening went. Otherwise, I look forward to seeing you bound and breathless again._

  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan sets the rules for their new relationship, including but not limited to: Don’t Cause Trouble.
> 
> Anakin heads to campus to cause trouble. He gets punished accordingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More communication, and more Anakin getting in trouble! It's sexier this time, I think. Please heed the rating bump. <3

For the first time in ages, Anakin woke up wanting to run.

He had a usual route he used to run before work, but he hadn’t done that in… over six months. But as soon as he blinked his eyes open and rolled out of bed, all of his muscles were itching with the need to move.

One of the things he’d found in the suitcase of overly expensive clothes was long-sleeved shirts with buttons at the collar—a few thin cotton ones, a few that were a heavier, grid-like knit. A couple in black, of course, Obi-Wan had gotten that right, but also one in soft blue, and another in dark red.

And one in beige that made Anakin roll his eyes every time he sifted through his closet and caught sight of it.

He threw on his shoes, an old pair of shorts, and the most breathable-looking shirt out of the bunch. He pinned up the sleeve and left his apartment with nothing but his set of keys, all before 8AM.

He ran hard, working against the stiffness and aches in his underused muscles, pushing himself right back into running at his old pace. It felt good to move his body like this, to breathe in through his nose and exhale out hard through his mouth. The weather was perfect too, cool enough this morning to finally start feeling like fall.

As he ran down the streets of his neighborhood, past honking cars and people dumping their trash, he felt the phantom sensation of pressure around his ankles, around his wrist. Moving with him. It was… comforting. 

A reminder of the night before.

By the time he turned back onto his block, he had a stitch in his side and his legs burned, and it felt amazing. 

He wrinkled his nose as soon as he stepped inside. The front hall to his building smelled just as rancid as ever—they definitely had a mold problem. Yellow water stains warped his ceiling, and he knew with complete certainty that there was a problem with the pipes. He was surprised his studio hadn’t flooded yet in the three years he’d lived here—but Jabba wasn’t ever going to do anything about it. Not until the building actually flooded and it affected his bottom line.

On his way down the stairs, his eyes caught on the P.O. boxes, and this time he paused his steps.

He should check the mail. He should really, really check the mail.

A stack of familiar yellow envelopes. He shoved them under his arm and dropped them off on the table next to the rest of the familiar yellow envelopes.

He’d stopped opening them months ago. They were all the same, the same confusing complicated packets of information, the same total owed. 

The one on top read _URGENT._

Anakin ripped it open and scanned the papers quickly. His heart plummeted into his stomach, a visceral drop that almost felt like vertigo.

He tossed it all aside.

_can i come over tonight?_

He felt light-headed under the spray of water, almost like he might vomit. By the time he stumbled out of the shower, he had a reply.

_I have an evening class and won’t be getting home until 8:30pm, and I—very unfortunately—still have essays to grade._

He gripped his phone tight. It was a pretty clear _no,_ Obi-Wan didn’t want him coming over. He could just show up anyway… but no, that was totally fair, he had just come over last night, and they weren’t even dating. God, he was really just being super annoying, he was already fucking this up—

Another buzz.

_However, I have a break between classes around 4pm. I’ll expect to see you already there._

Anakin smiled down at his screen, feeling a little stupid about it but whatever, no one was here to judge. Obi-Wan had basically just given him permission to go over to his house before he even got there. 

So the rules _were_ different this time around.

He typed quickly. 

_do you want me on the sex chair? ;)_

He was toweling his hair dry, trying to get the curls to lay right, when his screen lit up again.

_Although rather tempting, we won’t have time between classes for what I have planned the next time I have you on the chaise._

His eyes widened and darted to the mirror, where his naked body reflected back at him. 

The sex chair had seemed weird at first, the whole being-tied-up thing was even weirder, but now he couldn’t wait to be back in Obi-Wan’s office. For… whatever Obi-Wan had planned.

Hopefully, sex.

* * *

Anakin heard the door open just as he finished scribbling. He tossed the pen onto the coffee table next to his empty glass.

A voice came from the foyer. “Did you use the key this time or pick the lock for old times’ sake?”

Anakin made an offended sound as he sat up to look over the back of the sofa.

Oh.

He was just in time to catch Obi-Wan shrugging off a navy blazer and hanging it up on the coat rack. Underneath he wore a pale blue button-down and… suspenders. 

Leather suspenders the same shade as Obi-Wan’s whisky, thick straps fitted over his shoulders and crossed into one strap at the back.

He swallowed dryly. “Of course I used the key. Clean slate. I’m not going to cause any more trouble, guaranteed.”

Obi-Wan scoffed at that, shaking his head as he finally turned to shoot a disbelieving look at him. “Why do I feel certain that’s not true?”

Anakin smiled back innocently.

Obi-Wan’s gaze fell to the book in his lap as he made his way into the living room. “Are you reading or simply posing?”

“I’m reading!” Anakin held the book out. “Look. I even used sticky notes.”

“Oh good, so you rifled through my desk.” Obi-Wan grabbed _Immanuel Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason_ from him as he passed by. He stood with his hip cocked as he flipped through the pages.

“Not like it was the first time,” Anakin said distractedly. “So, where’s the belt?”

Obi-Wan didn’t bother looking up. “Why do you ask?”

“N-no reason,” he stammered. “You just look even more your age now. Which is old.”

Obi-Wan flipped the book to face him, a finger pointing to an orange sticky note. “This is just a cock.”

“No, keep looking,” Anakin insisted, a giggle bubbling up. “Some of the notes are legit.”

Obi-Wan sighed and kept flipping through the pages until he stopped on one, tapping the note. “We should discuss this another time. You’ve brought up a great question.”

“Told you I was reading.”

Obi-Wan handed the book back to him and headed over to the liquor hutch. “Are you alright, Anakin? I couldn’t tell from your texts if something was wrong.”

Anakin felt a little bit of guilt worming around in his stomach. Making Obi-Wan leave work in the middle of the day for no reason… no good reason, anyway. “Yeah, I’m fine. I hope you didn’t think something was wrong. I just wanted... nothing’s wrong.”

Obi-Wan didn’t look convinced. “I’d like to discuss last night with you, if that’s okay.”

“Uh… sure.”

Obi-Wan walked over with his glass and sat down on the opposite end of the couch. Anakin shifted to sit cross-legged, facing him. 

He took a pull from his drink, distracting Anakin with the movement of a suspender strap pulling taut with the rise of his shoulder. “How did you feel after our scene yesterday?”

Anakin raised a brow. “You don’t know? Thought it was pretty obvious.”

“A part of you seemed to be in good spirits, yes,” Obi-Wan lilted, his lips quirked in amusement. “Tell me more. Did you feel comfortable with what happened in the scene? Were you ever afraid or nervous?”

Obi-Wan seemed genuinely worried that Anakin somehow _didn’t_ enjoy it, and it was strange. Really all that had happened was he’d been tied up and basically told to take a nap—did Obi-Wan really think he couldn’t handle that? That it would send him into another outburst or breakdown?

He’d started clenching his fist. Obi-Wan was watching him intently, his eyes catching the movement of his hand. Anakin forced himself to relax, to unfurl his tightly clenched fingers. 

Deep breath. Obi-Wan was just… nice. And thoughtful. A weirdo who left food out for burglars.

“No, I felt… I felt good,” Anakin said, meeting his gaze. “I didn’t really think about anything, I just… it was kind of like that feeling of being really worn out and finally getting to lay down somewhere comfortable. Kinda.” He made a face at his own shitty explanation. He didn’t have the words for how he felt last night. All he knew was he liked it. 

He wanted Obi-Wan to tie him up again. Even if Obi-Wan didn’t do anything to him—although he definitely, one-hundred percent wanted him to do something—he wanted that floaty, warm feeling back. He wanted Obi-Wan to tell him what was happening so he could just nod, _yes, cool, sounds great, whatever you wanna do._

“Last night I wanted to give you space to reflect without my presence affecting things, but I’d like to ask now. Is there anything else you would’ve liked me to do after I untied you?”

“Like… what?”

“As aftercare,” Obi-Wan clarified gently. “To help you come down from the scene.”

_Aftercare._

“Honestly, I felt fine after it. I went to bed pretty soon after I texted you.” He figured the jacking off before bed was implied.

“That’s good to hear,” Obi-Wan nodded. “But you may need more from me after... heavier scenes.” 

The way Obi-Wan said _heavier_ sent heat through his core. _Heavier._

“Are there things you know you like?” Obi-Wan pressed. “That feel comforting?”

He fidgeted with the pinned sleeve of his shirt. “What do you normally do? With others.”

Obi-Wan smiled, shaking his head slightly. “There is no normal. It’s about what you want and need. We’re learning this together, Anakin. I may have had partners in the past, but I’ve never had _you_ as my partner, so in this way, we’re both on the same level trying to figure this out. Trying to figure each other out.”

Obi-Wan peered at him over his drink, his gaze tracking down and back up. “For example, I’ve learned I need to be far more explicit about my intentions and desires with you. You don’t like when you don’t have clarity about what’s going on around you.”

Anakin swallowed. “Yeah. You could say that.”

“So what do you think you need from me, during and after scenes?”

He took a breath, actually thinking about it this time. “Okay, well. Um. I guess I don’t want to be left alone. Not completely alone, at least. Being alone is… yeah.” He shook himself, what was he _saying?_ “I wouldn’t want you to like, kick me out. Right away.”

“I won’t ever kick you out,” Obi-Wan promised, his voice firm and almost steely. “What else?”

“I like… I don’t know.”

“Do you like being touched?” Obi-Wan reached out and rested a hand on his knee. Anakin held his breath, tensing up under the solid, warm pressure. Obi-Wan’s thumb started rubbing at the inside of his knee, brushing over the seam of his jeans. “Your face, your hair… you’ve seemed to enjoy me touching you in those ways so far, but I want to know exactly what you like.”

“I do like… being touched.” His cheeks flamed, even as his body relaxed a bit into the touch. This was so weird to talk about. He almost felt like he was talking to a doctor or something. Well, a doctor would never speak to him like this, or touch him this way, but _still,_ talking about how he liked having his hair petted… was weird. It was a weird thing to talk about.

“Is there anywhere I shouldn’t touch you, as a general rule?”

“Um. My… arm.” A laugh forced its way out, and he shrugged. “You know the one.”

Obi-Wan nodded, accepting that. “Is it alright if I touch your shoulder?”

“Yeah, shoulder’s fine.”

That hand rose from his knee to his right shoulder, squeezing gently before falling away. “Anywhere else?”

“No, anywhere else is good. In fact, I really want you to touch me in other places.” He flashed a wink. “Specifically with your dick.”

Obi-Wan sighed, long-suffering. “That was not smooth at all, darling. You must be having an off day.” 

“Got the point across.”

Obi-Wan took a pull from his drink. “I’m assuming endearments like _darling_ are alright?”

“Um, yes.” _Please._

“As for touching you…” A hand scrubbing over his beard paired with the quirk of his lips was almost cruel. “Have patience.”

His cock twitched in response. The jeans Obi-Wan got for him fit better than his old pair—too well, really—but he still had to adjust how he was sitting. 

“Speaking of patience.” Obi-Wan smiled knowingly, the _dick,_ “How do you feel about being teased?”

“What do you mean, teased?”

“Teased,” Obi-Wan repeated. “Emotional or physical edging, in which a scene is paused or even ended without you achieving release.”

Anakin pouted. “So basically, when you get your rocks off and I don’t?”

“So far you’ve seemed to enjoy when I ignore your cock,” Obi-Wan pointed out. “Actually, you seem to get quite flushed whenever I leave you hanging.”

“Wh—” he sputtered. “Okay, maybe, yeah. I like teasing. But you know I’m going to tease you back.”

“You’ll try,” Obi-Wan said breezily. “That reminds me, we need to set some rules.”

“...rules.”

“Yes, rules,” Obi-Wan said, raising a placating hand. “I don’t want to _control_ you, that’s not the point of having rules. But part of this relationship is me wanting to _help_ you, and I think for us to have any success with that, you’re going to need structure. Hence, the rules.”

He wasn’t surprised by Obi-Wan’s insistence on having rules, but he really did take this stuff way too seriously. “Okay, shoot.”

“The first rule is the most important,” Obi-Wan started, his voice softening. “I need honesty from you, Anakin. You have to be transparent about what you need from me, whether it be during or outside of a scene. I can’t be left guessing what’s really going on inside your head.”

Anakin wrapped his arm around his chest. “Okay. And are _you_ going to be transparent with _me?”_

Obi-Wan thinned his lips. “As transparent as I can be.”

Anakin scoffed. “Convenient.”

“I’ll be transparent in the ways that matter. Another rule,” Obi-Wan pushed on, “is I want you taking care of yourself. This hasn’t changed from before; I need you to be committed to your own well-being. Eating three meals a day, showering regularly, sleeping enough. And, ideally, no excessive drinking.”

Anakin winced. “Last one’s not a problem at all.”

“Hopefully _none_ of those will be a challenge. They’re all important. And I also can’t be left wondering about your well-being—if I text you, I expect to hear back from you within the day.”

These rules were getting a little hypocritical. “Does that rule apply to you or no?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan answered him easily. “That rule applies to me as well. Although the _next_ rule is really only applicable to you: no causing trouble.”

_Hah._

“Well that’s really vague.”

“Do what I ask and you should be fine,” Obi-Wan advised, smirking. “Which brings me to my last rule: no masturbating.”

Anakin blinked rapidly. “Sorry, what?”

“You heard me. No masturbating. No _coming,_ specifically. It’s a lesson in self-discipline, which I think you sorely need.”

“Aaand…” Anakin drawled, “what happens if I were to break any of these rules?”

“You’ll be punished, however I see fit.”

 _Punished._ The way Obi-Wan said this stuff so casually made blood rush to his cock every time, and it was frustrating, because Obi-Wan definitely knew it. “Like, reading out loud.”

“Perhaps. Or being bound and gagged. Or spanked.”

 _“Spanked?”_ he choked out.

“Depends.” Obi-Wan sipped lightly. “That might be reserved for good behavior.”

“Good behavior,” Anakin said dumbly.

Obi-Wan smiled serenely. “Can you agree to those rules?”

Anakin stared at the man sitting across from him on the sofa. At the whisky, the suspenders, the relaxed posture, at eyes, watching him in the same way. Patiently waiting for his answer.

“Yes. Completely agree, no issues here.” Anakin grinned. “Will not be causing trouble.”

“Very good.” Obi-Wan met his grin with a look that was way too soft and sincere. “Outside of…” Obi-Wan gestured between them, “this, how are you doing?”

There wasn’t much outside of this, Anakin wanted to say. Some angry little part of him wanted to remind Obi-Wan just how pathetic he was. _I don’t do anything. I’ve been riding buses and walking around parks all day long for months._

His mind flashed an image of the pile of yellow envelopes ready to fall apart under its own weight. The letter stamped _URGENT,_ postmarked over a week ago.

The reason he was here.

“I um... I have some bills. One’s like, really overdue, for a hospital visit that I haven’t paid my part for. I’m—” He forced a breath, steeling himself. “I’m kinda worried about it. I have my mom’s engagement ring still, but I don’t want to—”

“Have you sold it already?”

He blinked. “The ring?”

“Yes. The ring.” 

“No, I haven’t sold it. Was thinking about it today when I saw the letter, but I didn’t.”

“Good,” Obi-Wan nodded sharply, rising from the sofa. “Stay right there.”

Obi-Wan wasn’t gone long. Anakin looked up from his phone as soon as he heard footsteps descending the stairs.

Obi-Wan slid a slip of paper onto the coffee table in front of him.

Anakin’s eyes zeroed in on the total. “Holy—!”

“I’m assuming you have a checking account where you can deposit this?”

“Uh, yes.” Probably had a negative balance, but he was pretty sure it was still there.

“Will it cover what you owe?”

“Yeah,” he uttered, still staring disbelievingly at the check. “This uhh... covers it. A friend helped me apply for some plan and that covered most of the original bill but… yeah, this is enough.” 

More than enough.

He picked up the check, running his thumb over the elegant cursive ink. Something about the memo that read _belated birthday gift_ made this feel illegal. Was this illegal? He didn’t really care about the legality of it, but he felt like Obi-Wan should. “This is so much money. Where...”

“I knew I could get far closer to market price than you, based on what you told me you traded the cufflinks for.”

A fresh wave of guilt washed over him, dousing the euphoria of holding a check for so much money. “So you sold all of it? You said those were family heirlooms, like, _important stuff._ I can’t…” Anakin frowned, returning the check to the table. “Now I feel bad.”

A hand found its way into his hair, and Anakin looked up at Obi-Wan, the movement of his head causing a slight tug on the roots before Obi-Wan let his hand fall away. “I’m giving you this. And, as a reminder, you have every right to never see me again after this. Every right to end any sexual relationship we might have—”

“Obi-Wan,” he cut in. “I know. I know that this is— separate from the sex. I still don’t get why you’re doing this for me.” 

Obi-Wan laughed softly, moving to sit down in the armchair. He gestured to the check. “You’re actually doing me a favor with this. I’ve been meaning to get rid of the trinkets in that chest for a long while. It’s done nothing but upset me for years, having to see it every time I get ready in the morning.”

“Wait, then why did you have all that stuff?”

“I haven’t sold _everything,”_ Obi-Wan noted. “But it’s all junk from my—adoptive—father’s business. I… well, I don’t agree with his business practices, so I’ve chosen not to associate with him for as long as I’ve been an adult. The chest has just… traveled with me, I suppose.”

“Business?” He thought of the matching engravings on the stuff he’d taken. “The fancy designer—that’s your family?”

Obi-Wan pressed his lips thin, looking pained. “I have no ties to the business. Or my family.”

“Oh my God.” He stared, probably looking like a whole idiot with his mouth agape. “I knew you had money but you’re like— you’re _rich.”_

“I am not,” Obi-Wan said, sounding like he really, actually believed it. “Once you empty out that chest and look at what’s left, I assure you, you won’t think I’m rich.”

Anakin laughed. “You don’t get it. You have connections! There’s your dad—which, okay maybe you have a bad relationship, I won’t ask about that—but I’m sure there are tons of people who would do you favors. Give you business offers and stuff just because of your name. You’re rich, okay?” He collapsed back into the couch with a huff. “Wow. Why have you even bothered with me at all?”

Obi-Wan was quiet for a long moment, picking at the edge of the armrest with one hand. Anakin watched his fingers pick at the seam, having nothing better to do after sticking his foot in his mouth, _again._

He guessed, technically, he could take the check and run.

“Do you know if that necklace sold? The one I gave you?”

Anakin looked up, confused. “Yeah, I think so. I can check if you want.”

“No, you don’t need to. I’m just…” Obi-Wan shook his head as if clearing it, “certain I could’ve gotten more for it.”

They sat in something of a tense silence. Anakin shifted on the sofa, feeling like maybe he should try _shutting up_ for once. 

But, a thought struck him.

“You said everything in the chest was from the same company that does menswear. So... what’s the deal with the necklace? Kinda doubt dudes were wearing that a hundred years ago.”

“It was... ah, a gift,” Obi-Wan said, his voice tight.

Anakin eyed him skeptically. “To you?”

“A gift returned.”

Returned. _His_ gift. To a… woman. Probably.

“By who?”

“I don’t want to discuss that.”

His voice held a sense of finality. 

Guess _that_ wasn’t included in the list of things that mattered.

“Okay. Well, anyway. I’m going to pay you back. For... some of this.”

“I thought I was clear. You never need to pay me back.” Obi-Wan suddenly looked tired, scrubbing at his beard as he stood.

“Yeah, but I will.” He literally couldn’t make this promise, but it felt right in the moment.

Obi-Wan shot him a regretful look. “I do need to get back to campus.”

“Oh, yeah! That’s fine. I’m gonna go put this in the bank,” Anakin waved the check awkwardly, standing up as well. 

“Your bank might be closed for the day.”

He sank back down. “Oh. Yeah.” _God._

“Tomorrow,” Obi-Wan said kindly. “You’re free to stay as long as you like. I’m sorry I have to leave so abruptly.”

“All good. Um, I haven’t said thank you yet, but… thank you.”

Obi-Wan pressed an apple into his hand on his way out, and the warm brush of their fingers felt something like reconciliation. 

* * *

Anakin slipped into the classroom behind a student, just as the loud chatter was dying down because of an accented voice that declared _class is starting, everyone._

Of course, the professor noticed him within seconds.

He’d found an empty seat a couple rows back from the front, on the far side of the classroom close to the door. No one else paid him any mind, everyone else too focused on putting out their laptops or notebooks for their one o’clock Introduction to Ethics class.

The professor’s eyes locked on him for a few seconds, an unreadable expression that didn’t reveal _anything_ , before he continued his sweep of the room. 

“I’m sorry to inform you,” Obi-Wan spoke to the class, “that you aren’t getting your papers back today as i’d originally promised, but we’re going to continue on with our next unit anyway.” 

As he flipped on the projector, a slide called _Stage Theory of Moral Development_ appearing on the screen behind him, a girl in the front row turned to face the class. “Just wanted to quickly add! I know there’s still a couple of you that emailed us about extensions and haven’t turned in your essays yet, but you can still turn them in by Friday with just the half a letter grade penalty. Okay? Cool!”

Anakin observed her curiously as she turned back to her laptop. She’d looked about the same age as everyone else in the room, but she must’ve been Obi-Wan’s TA or something.

Anakin had planned to play games on his phone to pass the time, but found himself looking up every few seconds as class went on.

The whole snooty old-man aesthetic… really worked, in the classroom. Anakin never thought he’d actually find a tweed blazer hot, but watching Obi-Wan slowly pace the room, lecturing on in his lilting drawl, dressed in charcoal gray except for the peak of olive between lapels, the stretch of leather belt that flashed when he gestured back to the slides—

He really got in trouble when Obi-Wan went to the blackboard.

His phone sat abandoned on the desk, his focus drawn to Obi-Wan’s hand as he wrote _KOHLBERG_ on the board. Obi-Wan had cuffed his sleeves so Anakin had an unfettered visual of his forearm, heavily dusted in auburn hair, and the way his wrist flicked as he drew a triangle below the name.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Obi-Wan’s hand, the way his fingers held the chalk, gentle but firm as he made long, quick strokes on the board, writing... something… _had his fingers always been that thick?_

He’d gotten so distracted that class was about to end and he’s almost forgotten what he’d come here to do. 

“...explain how his theory differs from Gilligan’s theory of social development—”

“Quick question, Professor,” Anakin blurted, raising his hand belatedly. “Can you elaborate on the section about the two classes of pleasure?”

Obi-Wan stopped writing on the blackboard. His fingers rolled the piece of chalk in slow, controlled movements as he turned to level him with an unaffected look. “I’m sorry, I don’t believe this week’s reading covered that.”

“Well, it was assigned to me.” 

Now he had most of the heads in the room turned toward him. He ignored them in favor of smirking at the figure at the front. “I’d like to hear your take on it.”

More chalk rolling. “Since you asked nicely, and since this _will_ come up again during the semester,” Obi-Wan turned to the room, “we can quickly review the utilitarian perspectives on human pleasure.”

Obi-Wan spun around and started writing, the chalk clacking loudly against the board as he spoke. “Bentham and Mill had very different ideas about pleasure. Bentham believed that ‘the game of push-pin is of equal value with the arts and sciences of music and poetry.’ To him, all pleasure is measured by its intensity, not whether it is intellectually stimulating.”

“Is push-pin some sort of…?” Anakin waggled his eyebrows.

“A child’s street game in Victorian England,” Obi-Wan said pointedly, shooting him a look before returning to the blackboard. “But Mill disagreed with Bentham. He believed that the spectrum of human pleasure can be ranked—with two distinct classes. One is the higher pleasures, this is unique to humans. It is borne from our intellect, our noble feelings of compassion and empathy. Our moral sentiments. For example, the pleasure of doing something good for someone else.

“The other is the lower, carnal pleasures. Mill famously wrote that, ‘it is better to be a human being dissatisfied than a pig satisfied; better to be Socrates dissatisfied than a fool satisfied.’ If you were to ask Mill, the higher pleasures are more valuable and more worthwhile in pursuing. They are what make us different from, and superior to, mere animals.”

“So... what’s your take?”

Obi-Wan faced him. “What do you mean?”

Anakin waved a lazy hand at the board. “Are the lower pleasures less important than the higher ones or is it all the same?”

Obi-Wan turned his gaze to the rest of the room, and for a second Anakin’s face fell. Apparently the conversation was over. 

“Would anyone care to summarize what we’ve already discussed about this?”

A student raised their hand. “Yeah, we talked about how you really can’t separate higher and lower pleasure because, like, our animal drives are always present, but so is our higher thinking ability as humans.”

“Correct,” Obi-Wan said, nodding as he paced in front of the desk. “One cannot separate our animal drive from our intelligent minds. Even our indulgence in the most base pleasures is inextricably linked to our human desires. Our desire to have identity, to belong, to challenge ourselves… et cetera.”

Anakin grinned. Obi-Wan really set him up perfectly. 

He didn’t bother with raising his hand. “So, Professor Kenobi, do you indulge in the base pleasures?”

The room thrummed with whispered chatter.

Anakin watched rapt as Obi-Wan’s shoulders rolled back, shifting under his blazer as he turned to face him, his expression perfectly composed.

“That is a highly inappropriate question to ask in class. And, a rather rhetorical one. Everyone engages in the lower pleasures. Everyone must eat and sleep to function, and just about all of us take pleasure in those acts.” 

“But what about sex?” 

“That is considered one of the lower pleasures, yes,” Obi-Wan said bluntly. 

“I just think,” Anakin grinned, almost feeling giddy, “it would be useful for my understanding of the topic if you explained how _you_ apply those moral sentiments to sex. Like, do you read Kant passages out loud while you’re thrusting or something?”

Laughter broke out, and he even caught the girl in the front row holding a hand over her mouth.

“Bentham would be a much better choice for sex. Kant’s diction is far too dry.” More laughs and conversation arose. Obi-Wan didn’t seem the least bit fazed, his expression still composed and commanding and hot, taking the favor of the room from Anakin with ease.

 _“Gilligan could be kinda sexy though,”_ Anakin heard from behind him.

“We need to move on. But I would like to see _you_ in my office after class,” Obi-Wan spoke directly to him. “I’m sure you can find my office number on the syllabus? Or perhaps on the campus portal.” Obi-Wan said it all with a friendly smile, because of _course_ he did.

Anakin resisted the urge to pull a face. He could find Obi-Wan’s office, easy. No problem.

Besides. Obi-Wan just invited him back to his _office._ And Obi-Wan definitely seemed to have a thing about offices.

He found Obi-Wan’s office by walking up and down the halls and scanning the placards like an idiot.

“You’re late,” Obi-Wan greeted him as he stepped in. Not making any sort of attempt to get up from his desk and grab him by the chin or push him against the wall or _anything_. As if Anakin were a regular student of his, here to be reprimanded and then sent on his way.

“A few minutes is literally not late.”

Knuckles rapped on wood, drawing Anakin’s attention back from the framed degree above the desk that had caught his eye. _Cambridge?_ “I see you’ve done some research about where I work.”

“Had to make sure you were really a professor, and not just some guy who likes the whole ‘all I do is wear tweed and read books and drink tea while wearing glasses’ aesthetic.”

Obi-Wan glared at him, looking even more annoyed than he had been last week about the nudes. Or him breaking into his house, whatever. 

“You must know you’re in trouble, right?”

“What do you mean?” Anakin blinked, his lips twitching of their own accord. “You’re the one who told me I should stop by your intro class, remember? That’s all I did.”

“That’s not _all_ you did and you know it.” Obi-Wan worked his jaw, toying with a pen between his fingers that Anakin couldn’t help but stare at. “This is my workplace, Anakin. How would you feel if I came into your auto shop and bent you over a customer’s car?”

Anakin snorted. “Um, if I still worked there, I would _love_ that.”

“What if I did that right in front of your boss and got you fired?”

“You’re not getting fired though.”

“No,” Obi-Wan conceded, “But I have my students’ education to worry about.”

Anakin smirked. “They didn’t seem to mind the conversation.” 

Obi-Wan sighed and shook his head. “I’m not letting this go. Open the door, Anakin.”

“Why?”

“Because I have office hours starting in five minutes.”

Anakin walked back and opened the door all the way. Its squeaky _creak_ cut through the silence of their locked gazes. He could sense something good was about to happen, the anticipation was all in _what_ it was going to be. What Obi-Wan decided it would be.

With… the door wide open.

“You asked me quite a few _personal_ questions in class today,” Obi-Wan said, his casual tone undercut with ice. “I think it’s only fair I ask you one now. Do you agree?”

Anakin shrugged, his heart beating in his throat. “I guess that sounds fair.”

“Good.” Obi-Wan stopped twirling his pen. His voice went low. “What’s your color?”

Oh.

_Oh._

“Green.”

Obi-Wan nodded, accepting that. His expression shifted into something conspiratorial, as if he were asking about a secret between just the two of them.

“Tell me. Do you want my cock, Anakin? Would you like to have my cock in your mouth?”

_Fuuuck._

His cock throbbed in his pants and he had to restrain the grin that threatened to split his face. 

Some _punishment._ He was going to suck Obi-Wan’s dick, and this time he wouldn’t be sloppy drunk.

He nodded furiously. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?” Obi-Wan pressed. “What do you want?”

“I want to suck your dick.”

A huffed laugh, stormy eyes crinkling for a fleeting moment.

Anakin scrunched up his nose—why was that funny? 

Whatever. He was finally going to suck Obi-Wan’s dick tonight, as soon as his office hours were over—

Obi-Wan pushed back from his desk. “Get over here. On your knees. All the way under the desk.”

His eyes bulged. “Wait, what? Right now? You just said you had office hours!”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “Are you arguing with me?”

“No, I just.” Anakin flailed his hand toward the doorway. “What if a student comes in while I’m sucking your dick? This can’t be ethical.”

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes. “I said _on your knees.”_

Anakin jumped into motion. Fuck it. He wasn’t the one who would be getting fired for this.

He knelt down into the space under the desk. There was just enough room for him to fit if he sat on his knees, enclosed by polished wood on all sides. This was a _nice_ desk, what kind of college paid for something this expensive? 

Obi-Wan returned, further closing Anakin in. Now the top of the desk blocked Anakin’s view of anything above the waistband of dark khaki slacks.

A voice came from above. “What’s your color?”

His _color._ Well, he was practically trembling with just the thought of getting Obi-Wan’s cock in his mouth. His mouth, which was already filling up with saliva before Obi-Wan’s cock was even out of his pants. “Really, really green.”

A hand came down to card through his hair, fingertips grazing his scalp. Anakin shivered and started to lean into it, but just as soon as the touch had been given, it was taken away, the hand traveling up to Obi-Wan’s belt.

Anakin watched hungrily as he began to unfasten. “No sounds, no movements. You’ve disrupted my teaching enough already today.”

“Kinda hard for me to give you a blowjob without moving.”

“You’re not giving me a blowjob.”

_What?_

Was he just… holding it? In his mouth?

“How long are your office hours?” Anakin asked.

“Today? Two hours.”

 _Two hours?_ Ah shit. His past record for keeping a cock in his mouth was two minutes, tops.

“Any concerns about that?”

“Not at all.” Anakin licked his lips. “Professor.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Huh? Calling Obi-Wan _Prof_ or _Professor_ hadn’t been an issue before.

“Is there something else I should call you then?”

“Obi-Wan is fine for now.”

Anakin didn’t hear anything else Obi-Wan might’ve said because his pants were fully unzipped, exposing black boxers and a familiar bulge. This was a much better angle than last time though, and oh—Obi-Wan reached into the waistband and pulled his cock out, shifting forward on the chair as he did so, bringing himself even closer to Anakin.

_“Oh.”_

Even in the shadows of the desk, even mostly soft, Anakin could tell Obi-Wan’s cock was _big._ Bigger than his, at least. Thicker. He didn’t have a lot of other dicks to compare it to, not outside of porn, which he hadn’t watched in months anyways—no, Obi-Wan was big, and he wanted him in his mouth right now.

He thought Obi-Wan might stroke himself a few times to get more hard, or maybe he’d tell Anakin to do that. But Obi-Wan said, “Take as much of my cock into your mouth as you can and _hold_ it.”

Anakin sucked in a deep breath. He could _absolutely_ do this.

He leaned in and wrapped his lips around the head of Obi-Wan’s cock, pausing there with his heart hammering in his chest. He’d forgotten how much he had to open his mouth for this, forgotten how warm a cock felt in his mouth, forgotten how it tasted, the subtle traces of salt on soft skin. 

“All the way, Anakin.”

He took Obi-Wan’s cock further, stretching his mouth open as wide as he could until the head was brushing against the back of his throat. He gagged and reflexively tried to pull all the way off for a gulp of air, but he forced himself to stop, to breathe in hard through his nose, only pulling back enough so he wasn’t gagging anymore.

Cock filled his mouth. He held it in place, his cheeks relaxed around its length.

“Are you comfortable?”

Anakin hummed affirmatively. He definitely felt like he needed to swallow already and that was hard with Obi-Wan’s cock in the way, but it felt so good to have his jaw open this wide, to have a heavy weight on his tongue, that it didn’t matter. He’d figure out the swallowing thing later.

“You’re going to keep my cock warm during the entirety of my office hours. You are not to do anything but hold it in your mouth. This is your punishment for mouthing off in my classroom. Seems fitting, doesn’t it? Shuts you up very nicely.”

A finger traced his lips, circling the seam where they were stretched around Obi-Wan’s cock.

“Fortunately for you, I haven’t finished grading their midterms yet, so there shouldn’t be a swarm today. But _if_ a student, or a faculty member, walks into my office, you are to be _one hundred percent silent,_ and you are certainly not allowed to _do anything._ Is that clear?”

Anakin hummed again.

“No more sounds, either, unless I say you can.”

Anakin managed an aborted half-swallow. He stayed silent. Breathing through his nose.

“Now, you can’t very well speak with your mouth stuffed with my cock, can you? You’re going to press three fingers like this,” Obi-Wan pressed three fingers to the inside of his thigh, in the very corner of Anakin’s vision, “for green. Two fingers for yellow, one for red.

“Tell me your color, please.”

Anakin pressed three fingers to Obi-Wan’s inseam.

“Very good,” Obi-Wan praised, just a drop of warmth returning to his voice, but just as quickly disappearing. “Now be still, my office hours have started.”

Anakin settled back onto his heels. His thighs already ached in this position, sore from his run yesterday. He’d really chosen the wrong time to start exercising again.

As he sat under the desk, Obi-Wan’s cock heavy and warm in his mouth, he listened to the familiar scribble of pen against paper above, interspersed every so often with keyboard clacks. It was frustrating, to not be allowed to do anything with Obi-Wan’s cock. He wanted to make Obi-Wan feel good. 

He guessed the warmth of his mouth probably felt good, but that wasn’t anything compared to an actual _blowjob._

Little soft upward presses of his tongue were allowed, he discovered after some experimentation. Swallowing was allowed, and he pulled off an inch or so each time so he could slowly take him down into his throat again, sliding his tongue along the underside _just_ a little bit.

All he heard was more scribbles. A couple pen taps against wood.

He really wanted to ask what time it was. It was kind of stupid, to want to know, when he was going to be here for two hours no matter what. It was just natural, when his jaw was aching and saliva was building up to full capacity every few minutes. His little half-swallows weren’t enough to stop the overflow from dribbling out the corners of his mouth.

Thin, slowly-moving trails of spit tickled him as they traveled under his jaw and down his throat.

_Gross._

But the more he sat there, his legs going numb, his jaw _throbbing,_ the more he sank into it. Physically he felt himself sink into the floor a bit more, his shoulders slumping. Relaxing.

He leaned forward slowly, bringing Obi-Wan’s cock further into his mouth, and found he liked the extra bit of suffocation that gave him, that extra feeling of fullness, that feeling of _too much._

Obi-Wan didn’t say anything.

And, Anakin realized it was kind of nice, not knowing how much time had elapsed. There was no clock to stare at, no minutes to count down. His entire world narrowed to keeping Obi-Wan’s cock warm with the wet heat of his mouth. He had nothing else to focus on other than the weight on his tongue.

His eyes fluttered open when he felt the tingle of fingertips on his scalp. Fingers brushing through his hair, drawing a few strands back and away from his face. 

“You’re doing so well, Anakin.”

Obi-Wan’s voice was barely above a whisper, muffled by the desk separating them. The praise and soft touch went directly to his cock, making him strain against the tight press of his jeans.

“Are you enjoying this? You may pull off to tell me. I would like verbal confirmation.”

He didn’t want to pull off right now. Yes, his jaw hurt, and he really needed to swallow all this saliva, but… he wanted to do what Obi-Wan asked, and Obi-Wan told him to stay on his cock for two hours.

“Anakin. I asked you to do something for me.”

Slowly, Anakin leaned back, letting Obi-Wan’s soft cock slip from his lips. For a moment his jaw felt locked, but he managed to close his mouth with only a light _pop_. He swallowed heavily and moved to wipe his chin with his sleeve, but he stopped himself at the last second.

Obi-Wan didn’t say he could do that yet.

“Yes, I like this.” His voice came out a bit hoarse.

“Good.” Notes of relief colored the voice above. “Just a little longer, dear. I know you can do it.”

Anakin parted his lips, taking Obi-Wan’s cock into his mouth again.

Only minutes later, or maybe a lot longer, the sound of footsteps made him tense and involuntarily tighten the suction of his cheeks.

A hand snaked under the desk to rake fingers through his hair and give a sharp little tug. 

Anakin swallowed down the moan that threatened to escape his throat.

“Color?”

Anakin pressed three fingers to Obi-Wan’s thigh. _Green, very much green._

“Good. You know to be quiet and still.” Anakin heard a knock, and then Obi-Wan’s voice rose from the hushed murmur to his regular volume. “Hello. What can I do for you?”

“Just stopping by to discuss details about the conference.” The voice was masculine, a stern timbre. Honestly, they kinda sounded like a hardass. Definitely another professor. Not a student.

Hmm.

He really shouldn’t do anything. This was _nice,_ really nice, and he might even get a reward if he just stayed still and silent.

But...

Anakin didn’t really listen to their conversation. It didn’t even seem like the professor was staying long enough to sit down. Based on his voice, he was standing near the desk but hadn’t taken up one of the chairs. Obi-Wan was typing, maybe the professor was looking over at his computer screen…

“—on Sunday—”

Anakin hollowed his cheeks around Obi-Wan’s cock and swallowed, having to pull off a little to manage it. A fresh glob of spit escaped his mouth in the process, but he didn’t care, not when he felt Obi-Wan’s legs tensing around him and his cock _twitching_ in his mouth.

“—and yes, we’ll have to _stop_ by to drop off our badges.”

Obi-Wan just barely put the extra emphasis, the extra grit on the word _stop,_ but Anakin knew it was meant for him.

_Stop._

Well, Anakin didn’t want to stop. Not until he had Obi-Wan swelling in his mouth.

He pulled off enough so he could lick at the head, swirling his tongue over it, flicking lightly at the slit and tasting bitter salt. He bobbed his head, taking Obi-Wan deeper while keeping his cheeks hollow, before pulling off again and repeating the motion.

His mouth filled with more cock, hot flesh firming up under his tongue, forcing his already aching jaw open a little wider to accommodate it on every glide of his lips down. His eyes started to sting from the repeated pressure at the back of this throat, watering like crazy, but he didn't care—the sensation of cock stiffening and expanding in his mouth was addicting, knowing he was so easily and quickly affecting Obi-Wan like this.

Obi-Wan, somehow, didn’t allow any strain to enter his voice as he continued his boring conversation, but his thighs were clearly tense and his cock was undeniably hard, swollen and pulsing ever-so-slightly in Anakin’s mouth.

Anakin would’ve smirked if his mouth weren’t so busy.

“Thank you for coming by, Windu. I’ll let you know what they say.”

“Great. Thanks again.”

Anakin choked on a silent laugh, inadvertently squeezing his throat around Obi-Wan’s cock in the process and nearly gagging himself. This Windu guy was not the only one who was going to be coming by the time Anakin was done.

“Oh, and could you close the door on your way out?”

“Of course.”

Anakin went completely still as he heard the soft _click_ of the door.

Silence filled the room for what felt like ages. 

“Release me.”

Reluctantly, he pulled off, Obi-Wan’s cock springing up against his lips as it slipped from his mouth.

The chair rolled back. “Stand up.”

He crawled out from under the desk, his legs nearly buckling out from beneath him in the process because of little twinges of numbness shooting up his spine _._

Two hours was a long time to kneel.

As soon as he was standing, he was grabbed by the hips and spun around before his head was forced down by a hand at the nape of his neck.

_“Ah—!”_

_“Quiet.”_

Obi-Wan had him bent him over the desk with his straining erection pressed against the side, his chest heaving against the wood, stuck in between the desk and the weight of Obi-Wan’s body on top of him.

“Really, Anakin?” Obi-Wan’s voice was low, rough in his ear.

“What did you expect?” Anakin shot back, smirking in spite of his racing heart. 

“Color?”

 _“Green_ , as long as you _do something.”_

Obi-Wan’s hard cock rubbed along the seam of his ass, very purposely teasing him. _Why_ was he still wearing jeans? He wanted Obi-Wan to just yank them down his hips, he wanted to feel Obi-Wan’s cock gliding over his naked skin, wanted to feel the tip prodding at his hole—

“I can hear your thoughts, darling. Use your words.”

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin groaned, grinding his ass back with the little leeway he had. “Come on. _Please.”_

“Mmm, what is it? I hardly know what you want me to come on if you won’t tell me.”

 _Fuck,_ Obi-Wan was so frustrating. “You _know_ what.”

A pair of soft finger pads traced down the edges of his spine and Anakin shuddered almost involuntarily. Obi-Wan pressed down harder, right at the most sensitive part of his lower spine, forcing Anakin to arch his back and press his ass back into Obi-Wan’s cock as if by reflex. 

Those fingers disappeared from his back and he whimpered. He thrust his hips back, eliciting a quiet, low grunt from behind. 

Suddenly his feet were kicked apart and he was pressed totally flat to the desk, the sharp edge cutting into his lower abdomen while Obi-Wan pressed his weight fully into his back. A tight grip on his wrist kept him from scrambling against the wood.

“Obi-Wan, I—”

“Do you want me to fuck you over this desk?” Obi-Wan’s soft, vaguely _dangerous_ tone made his breath hitch, his heart hammering away in his raw and aching throat. “Do you want one of my students to walk in on us, to expect to come to my office hours to ask when their paper will be graded, and instead see their professor pounding into you from behind?”

He could picture it so vividly. A tentative knock, the door swinging open, heavy, hard thrusts— “Y-yes—”

“Who do you think they’ll assume you are? A student from a different class, perhaps? A student looking to earn a better grade by letting me use them for a quick after hours fuck?”

_Holy shit holy shit holy shit—_

Nothing escaped his throat other than a reedy whistle of air.

“Or maybe…” A soft touch, a hand, Obi-Wan’s hand, was touching his cheek, caressing down past his chin. “they’ll think you’re my impatient husband, who just couldn’t wait for me to get home.”

Fingers spread out, ghosting in a hold around his throat. He held his breath, anticipating pressure, but none came. Anakin craned his neck to the side, following the hand as it drew away. The surface of the desk felt so cool against his flushed cheek as he gasped for air, grinding his cock against the edge of the desk, seeking out friction, he _needed_ friction, he needed...

“Or _maybe_ they’ll think you’re a delinquent, who broke into my house and wouldn’t leave because you were just,” Obi-Wan thrust against his ass, pushing him into the desk, “so,” another thrust _,_ “desperate for my cock?” 

Tears stung his eyes. He wanted it so bad he could feel the need closing up his throat. His voice was a garbled mess of choked-off moans. “Please, _please please please,_ Obi-Wan, come _on,_ just fuck me.”

Obi-Wan let out an amused little sound. “Darling, you’re so endearingly confident that I have lube in my _university_ office.”

“Well you have a sex chair in your home office, so…” Anakin wiggled his ass back, but Obi-Wan pushed him forward onto the desk again, completely pinning him against the edge, forcing his hips still.

Obi-Wan’s breath tickled his skin, made him shiver. His mouth was _right there_ just inches from his ear, Obi-Wan could kiss his neck if he wanted to, his voice so low he had to strain to hear it—

“Maybe I do have lube. Should I open you up slowly, get you ready for my cock so I can just slide right in? Or do you prefer some pain? Would you like me to start fucking you into the edge of desk, so hard that your legs go numb and you can’t even stand up without my help?”

Anakin nodded his head frantically, his eyes screwed shut. “Yes, fuck me so hard I can’t walk, please—”

Between one moment and the next, the forceful weight lifted from his back. His wrist was no longer restrained, no part of Obi-Wan was touching any part of him. 

He was just bent over a desk, his cheek pressed to the wood, his cock hard and leaking in his boxers, his ass up in the air, by himself.

“Wh—”

“I don’t think you’ve earned that yet, my dear.”

Anakin froze, his eyes blinking open blearily. Obi-Wan was still close to his ear, whispering, soft and teasing.

“No, I think you need to spend a little bit longer learning how to behave yourself. Once you’ve proven you can behave for me, _then_ you can have my cock in your ass.” 

His heart pounded against the desk. No, no, Obi-Wan didn’t mean… 

“Wait, you’re not going to fuck me? You can’t—”

“Anakin,” his voice was admonishing, further away now, “get up. You’re wrinkling my papers.”

Anakin scrambled to stand. He whirled around to find Obi-Wan had wandered over to his bookcase, for all appearances looking like he was casually perusing the titles on display. Anakin glanced down to his pants. His cock was already tucked away, the thick leather belt neatly fastened. If it wasn’t for the rather obvious bulge below the buckle, Anakin would’ve thought he’d imagined what just happened with the way Obi-Wan looked so unaffected.

There wasn’t even a lock of hair out of place as he browsed his bookcase. He didn’t spare him a single glance as he waved a hand toward the door. “Office hours are over. Please close the door on your way out.”

Anakin gaped at him for a long minute, still catching his breath. The more he stared, the more he realized Obi-Wan _did_ look a little affected. His cheeks were a little pinker than usual, his brow faintly glistening against the overhead light.

Despite himself, he found his cock throbbing more the longer Obi-Wan ignored him. He wanted to be pressed flat to the desk again. 

He wiped the sheen of saliva from his chin. Arousal curled low in his gut like a thick, warm honey, and he knew if he reached down and squeezed his cock through his jeans he’d come right then and there.

“Color?”

Anakin almost didn’t hear it, too distracted, too keyed up.

He blinked up at Obi-Wan, who was still mostly turned away from him, scanning the page of a book.

Oh. This was… part of the scene. This _was_ the scene.

_Teasing._

“Feeling green, Professor.” He sauntered around the desk, checking very obviously on the front of those khaki slacks one last time on his way out. “See ya next class!”

He left the door wide open.

* * *

“Oh, _oh, oh— fu-u-uck!”_

Anakin gasped for air, his chest heaving as he cast the dirty tissue aside.

He laid there for a minute. His nerves wracked with aftershocks.

After coming—twice, in rapid succession—his phone buzzed.

_As always, please text or call me if you have concerns about this afternoon. Or if you simply wish to talk._

He smiled, stupidly, down at the screen.

Another text popped up.

_For this week: Practice opening yourself up until you can get three fingers in without discomfort. No masturbation rule still applies._


End file.
